Blood Brothers
by paperbkryter
Summary: Dean's love of the ladies finally gets him in serious trouble, leading Sam to risk a trip down a dark and dangerous path. Rated M for sexual situations, strong language and violence. Please keep this in consideration.
1. Chapter 1

If one only looked surface deep at Dean Winchester, they would probably conclude that he was irresponsible, unreliable, unorganized and immature. Truth was, he only _wanted_ to be all those things. He constantly had to fight a nature that was more like his brother's in order to perpetuate his bad boy image.

There was always a method to his madness, though he rarely let anyone know what exactly that method was, and his head was (almost) always screwed on straight as an arrow. He followed John Winchester's militaristic way of doing things – very methodical. The car was spotlessly clean despite their drive-thru eating habits, and although the items in the trunk appeared to be thrown in willy nilly, they weren't. Dean kept records in his head on every item he owned, including a detailed inventory. He always knew when it was time to stop and stock up on ammo, or salt, lighter fluid or holy water.

The Winchesters had post office boxes all over the country in every name imaginable in order to keep their credit card racket going. Since John's disappearance and subsequent death, Dean had been taking care of things all by himself. When he wasn't hustling pool or playing poker, he was filling out credit card applications. There was always money for gas and food and a place for them to crash when they needed down time. He handled all the domestic duties too. When he noticed Sam recycling his t-shirts, Dean would hit the nearest laundry mat and get to work.

Sam took him for granted – a lot – but then he was used to Dean taking care of things so it was all second nature. They had grown up with a father, and John had taken good care of them for sure, but it had always been Dean who was right there twenty-four-seven, making sure the "household" ran smoothly. Dean was the only mother Sam ever knew. He had been wiper of tears, bandager of boo-boos, and dispenser of chocolate chip cookies always guaranteed to "make it all better."

When Sam left for college, Dean found himself floundering around looking for something to do with himself. John took him on the road Hunting but made it very clear who would be in charge of just about everything. At home it had always been a different story. When they had downtime John buried his nose into his research, meticulously scribing notes into his journal and responding to Dean's attempts at conversation with grunts. Dean was left to his own devices, and was forced to find himself some sort of identity beyond his little brother's caretaker.

So he went out, and became a ladies man.

"You're a sex addict," Sam told him.

It wasn't exactly true, Dean thought. He just liked women. It was probably some Freudian thing having to do with losing his mother at such a young age. Unlike Sam, Dean remembered what it was like to be held and cuddled in the arms of a woman. He couldn't explain it either, not without sounding like he had some sort of perverse Oedipus syndrome going on. Women were – nice. They were soft, and delicate, and always smelled so good. He liked it when they touched him, and he definitely enjoyed touching them back. One of his best kept secrets was that he truly enjoyed giving _them_ pleasure. His job wasn't done until she was satisfied. He could get off just by listening to them getting off, but he'd learned very quickly that women could be extremely generous with their gratitude and that made it all worth while.

Oh yeah. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours.

At the moment Dean was feeling the need to be scratched. He'd been a little embarrassed that Sam caught him with the actress Tara, because up until that glorious little temptation he'd been trying to be respectful of Sam's Madison issues.

Sam thought he was cursed, and between the whole demon thing and Sam's horrendous luck with women, Dean was beginning to believe it. After all, the poor guy gets laid for the first time in over a year and then has to put a bullet in the chick? Talk about scarred for life. Dean doubted Sam would ever take it out of his pants again.

He'd been half tempted to suggest Tara entertain the notion of a therapeutic threesome, but decided it wouldn't be prudent. For one, it was _Sam_, to whom he was related and who spent nearly every waking hour with him. The two of them fooling around with the same girl at the _same time_ would definitely generate a serious discomfort factor post-nookie. If they even got that far. Sam would probably go off the deep end at the mere suggestion.

In any case, Dean had been able to fend off any further temptation for several weeks post Tara. Sam continued to brood and work them like dogs. Where he came up with the energy Dean didn't know because at the end of a month Dean was sorely in need of a break, especially after spending time in prison and the stress of having a face to face with Hendrickson. He'd not let on to Sam, but that had scared the shit out of him. With Hendrickson swooping in so quickly it could have been very difficult for Deakon to bust them out like they'd planned. Lethal injection was not something Dean wanted to contemplate.

As soon as he thought the coast was clear and she was out of Hendrickson's radar, Dean sent flowers to Mara. He thought she deserved a little nod of thanks. Without her they would have been toast.

They were flying way under the radar these days. Rural cases were plentiful and in the wide open plains, smack dab in the middle of the country, escape routes were in abundance too. They wouldn't get cornered. Frequently they restricted their activities to within a few miles of the Canadian border. If things got too hot with the Feds they could quickly slip out of the country.

Finally, in a little town just outside of Fargo, Dean planted his heels and refused to budge. He was dog tired, Sam was fighting a head cold, and it was time to rest. They rented a motel room. Sam continued digging around online, following a lead he'd found. In the restaurant next to their motel they both sank into the worn leather seats of a booth with sighs of relief. Dean immediately started flirting with the hostess, winking at her from across the room. Sam hunched over his laptop with a bottle of honey and a huge cup of tea. Dean resisted the urge to grab him before he wiped his nose on his sleeve.

_Not the momma, _he told himself sternly. His self, of course, didn't listen. He preempted a second nose wiping by handing Sam a napkin and then dispensed some motherly advice.

"There's a drugstore a block down. Go get some Nyquil."

Sam just grunted.

Dean sighed. It was like traveling with their father again. He ordered a beer and gave the waitress ten bucks to pass a note to the hostess. She was dark haired and buxom. Recently Dean's tastes had been leaning toward the petite blonds, but this gal had a little meat on her bones. There was Native American in her somewhere, he suspected. She was beautiful.

"Vampire," Sam mumbled gunkily. He flipped open the "hat" on his honey bear and turned it upside down over his tea.

"I was thinking Cherokee myself."

"Whad?"

"Never mind."

Dean grinned as the dark girl read her note and shot him a look. Her brows came up and her eyes held a question. He winked at her again and saw her face flush. She leaned over to whisper something to the waitress and scribbled something on the back of the note with her pencil.

Score.

"I thing we've god a vampire over in Fargo," Sam continued. His voice improved only slightly after a long draw from his tea and honey. He was most definitely congested. "Signs are subble, but dere hab been a lod of John Does showing ub in the morgue missing a whole lod of blood."

"Uh-huh."

The note, and a beer, arrived with the return of their waitress. The hostess was game. Her shift ended at eleven. Dean would give her some cash and let her rent another room at the hotel, leaving Sam to his own devices. If the kid got some Nyquil and some rest he could probably beat the cold. Having Dean elsewhere would probably help.

"Dean..."

Dean reached over and slowly pushed the laptop closed. "Sam. We are off duty as of now. We'll hit Fargo on Monday."

Sam glared at him. "Yeah? And whad if someone dies over duh weekend?"

"And what if they don't? Look, we're not at the top of our game right now. You're freakin' sick, and I'm exhausted." Dean shook his head and took a sip of beer. "I'm not risking it, and I know you've got enough sense to know I'm right."

After a moment, Sam's glare softened. His head bowed down over his cup. "Yeah, right. Okay." He paused and rolled his eye toward the hostess. "She's pobably Sioux, Dean, nod Cherokee."

Dean didn't care, as long as she was game. He polished off his beer, knocked twice on the table and got up. "I'll be right back."

"Where are you going?"

"To the drugstore."

"Whad for?"

"Condoms..." Dean waited until Sam finished sneezing. "And Nyquil."


	2. Chapter 2

Sam Winchester was harboring a secret.

He considered his cold a god-send.

They'd been on the go for months, hitting case after case after case simply because neither one of them wanted to think about the dark cloud hanging over their heads. That dark cloud was growing even darker with every day that passed. Sam could feel it, like a nagging itch between his shoulder blades, an itch he couldn't reach to scratch. It felt _bad_ too. Despite outward appearances he was nervous and jumpy and outright scared. Some sort of confrontation with the demon was going to happen soon. Everything was going to come to a head and Sam _knew_ with certainty it wasn't going to be good.

Dean knew it too. Sam watched him every time he cleaned their guns. It didn't take any psychic powers to see what was going on in his brother's head as he looked down the barrel of each weapon.

_Would it be this one? _

Sometimes, if it was late and Dean was tired, his hands would shake as he went through the cleaning process. It was as if he wanted nothing more than to dig a hole in the ground and bury every weapon they owned. No weapons gave him an excuse not to do what might be necessary.

Sam was tempted to tell him it didn't matter. If it came down to it, Dean could kill Sam with his bare hands.

If Sam didn't kill him first.

That was the thing. Sam wasn't positive Dean could kill him as their father had instructed. Dean wasn't sure either. Frighteningly though, the one thing they were both sure of was that if Sam went dark side, he wouldn't hesitate to murder Dean. Why, neither couldn't and probably _wouldn't_ say. It was a gut deep feeling that just wasn't explainable.

The situation with Madison had wrecked them both. Dean, Sam decided, should have been an actor. He hid it well. Sam didn't hide his grief so well, but he did hide something else from his brother. He hid the fact that after it was all over he'd felt a little thrill, a buzz of excitement. He _could_ kill.

And it had been a lot easier than he'd expected.

They buried themselves in work. Dean complained, but he was just as relieved as Sam to have a distraction. Prison was a pain in the ass though. Sam spent too much time lying in his cell _thinking_. Confinement forced his mind into places he didn't want to be and he became convinced if they had to spend even a day beyond their intended escape time, he would have a complete meltdown. It was the first time he had ever considered actually making a conscious attempt to harness his abilities.

Sam had power, he had no doubt about that. When "Meg" had possessed him it had been the demon's know-how, but his ability that had shattered the Devil's Trap. Before they left Bobby's place Sam had stood under the shattered sigil staring at the deep crack in the ceiling. The very foundation of the building had been broken. It had been _his_ doing.

Escaping from prison would be a piece of cake if he could harness _that_ power.

Just knowing he'd thought about it scared the piss out of him. He didn't tell Dean. Dean had enough to worry about with Hendrickson breathing down their necks. Sam had been relieved when Deakon came through and sprung them. He'd immediately gone on the hunt for their next gig, and kept them going with no downtime to speak of until the cold started getting the better of him. Dean wasn't sick, but not doing too well himself. Twice he'd almost fallen asleep at the wheel.

A head full of snot was a definite distraction. Sam's concentration was centered around breathing, not worrying about demons and his freaky-ass abilities. He kept dosing himself with honey, tea and whiskey until Dean forced a bottle of Nyquil on him and sent him to bed. While Dean entertained himself with Rebecca, the dark siren from the restaurant, Sam slept. When Dean went out to play pool and get drunk, Sam curled up under a pile of blankets and watched medical dramas on T.V.

He thought it was appropriate.

By Sunday night he was feeling better and had determined that _House_ deserved the Emmy and _Grey's Anatomy_ was disgustingly overrated.

Dean slept all day and most of the night Sunday but woke refreshed and ready to go on Monday morning.

"Denny died," Sam informed him.

"Thought so," Dean held out his hand and Sam reluctantly paid up the fifty bucks they'd had riding on the poor sap. "Didja cry?"

Sam snorted. "No."

"Liar."

"Can we just move on, please."

Dean chuckled as they loaded up the car and got on their way. "Wuss," he laughed, but let it drop. They had other things to worry about.

Like a vampire loose in Fargo, North Dakota.

"Dad was way off with the extinction theory. We keep running into these things all over the damn place," Dean growled.

"Obviously Hunters thought they were gone, and stopped hunting them. You stop hunting something and eventually their numbers will increase. Look at the buffalo."

"Gordon never stopped."

"Gordon is a freak of nature."

"He doesn't see it that way." Dean shrugged. "It's perspective I guess."

Gordon was another subject they usually preferred not to discuss. "You think he's right?"

The comment made Dean squirm. "I don't know," he said after a long pause. "It depends..."

"On whether or not he's talking about me?"

"Or Lenore, or Molly, or Maddie..." Dean replied. "You're the one always pushing the whole 'shades of gray' thing Sammy. I get it now, okay."

"Dean, Lenore never killed anyone. Molly had no understanding of what she was doing, she killed by accident. Maddie..." Sam stopped, feeling his chest tighten. "Was different."

Dean's voice was soft. "No she wasn't. She was a victim, Sam."

"But in the end it didn't matter."

Sam knew Dean wouldn't reply this time. It hit too close to home. Madison understood what had to be done. She was _good_. Her heart, deep down, had been as pure as snow. Her only option was to surrender herself to the justice that had to be done.

"I'm scared," Sam whispered. He turned his head to look out the window. The city limits of Fargo appeared in the distance.

"I know."

"No. You don't know, Dean." Hot tears stung his eyes. "I'm scared that when the time comes...I won't be like Maddie."

He sensed rather than saw Dean turn a quick look toward him. "What are you talking about?"

Sam inhaled deeply, let the breath out in a long sigh as he wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. He turned and met his brother's gaze.

"I won't go easy."

Dean's jaw clenched tight, so tight a muscle twitched in his cheek. "You're not going at all," he growled. "I'm going to save you Sammy, even if it kills me."

"It might."

"Can we be done with this?"

"We really need to talk about it at some point, Dean."

"No we don't."

"Dean..."

"Sam!"

Dean shot him a glare, and then shut down completely.

Sam shut up.

What was the point of talking if nobody was listening?


	3. Chapter 3

The case sucked – no pun intended.

After tooling around Fargo for nearly a week they were no closer to finding their vampire than pigs were to flying. First of all they weren't sure exactly what to look for besides bloodless bodies with fang marks on their necks. During their other encounters they'd had help locating the vampires in question. John knew what to look for, but he hadn't been willing to share that information. Gordon was likewise tight lipped, and in that case the vampires ended up finding _them_. Besides taking out an advertisement in the Fargo Forum, Dean wasn't at all sure what to do.

Their lack of progress was making them both crabby, which in turn _hindered_ their progress. After what seemed like the thousandth blow-up over something stupid, Dean gave up on talking to Sam about anything at all and slammed out of the hotel. He thought about getting in the car and driving the hour back to Rebecca and her delicious curves, but was reluctant to leave his brother alone. It was that damn sense of responsibility. Even pissed off he couldn't abandon Sam to his own devices. What if the demon showed up?

Yeah, and Dean's last words to him had been "go to hell."

"Dammit, Sammy..."

He retreated into the hotel bar. There were quite a few people gathered there listening to a local band. The music was good, the whiskey was flowing, and the girls were pretty. Quite a few looked to be on a girl's night out, flocking in small groups here and there about the room. Males circled them like sharks. Dean's methods were more subtle. Oh, he could, and would do the whole "what's a nice girl like you doing in a place like this" routine, but sometimes he attracted more flies with a whole lot of honey.

Dean wasn't stupid. He looked at himself in the mirror every morning and he knew what women liked. All he had to do was smile and wink.

He got a good buzz on and started flirting with a pretty blond sitting across the room. She smiled back at him and whispered to her friend. Dean bought her a drink. When she blushed coyly upon its arrival, Dean knew he had her in his pocket. He slid from his barstool, drink in hand, and started moving toward her.

A hand locked around his arm. Nails dug into his skin through his shirt sleeve and a low, sultry voice whispered in his ear.

"You don't want her," it said. "She's married. Likes to lead a guy on and then drop the bomb on him. You won't get anything but a set of blue balls going after that bitch."

Dean frowned. "And how do you know?" he whispered back.

"She comes in here all the time."

Craning his head over his shoulder, Dean caught a glimpse of green eyes, auburn hair, and dark red lips. The hand fell from his arm. He turned around.

She was tall, and lean, dressed conservatively in a dark brown top and jeans. A choker made of tiger's eye stones encircled her neck. In her hand was a glass of whiskey. Idly she stirred it with her finger. Her nails were long and painted the same dark red color as her lips and her hair.

Dean watched her lick the booze from her finger with a great deal of interest. She made it worth his while. Afterward she sucked whiskey off of _his_ finger in a very, very suggestive manner.

"Maria," she said finally. "You?"

Before he could stop himself he blurted, "Dean."

She smiled broadly. "Trust me, Dean. You don't want the blond."

He gave her a wry look. "But maybe the red-head?"

Shrugging, Maria leaned back against the bar. Dean sidled up next to her – very closely. She was quite warm, and smelled like a combination of woodsmoke, whiskey and the faintest hint of leather. It was not what he was used to with the women he generally chose. He liked them a bit more demure, but this girl was giving off such a sexy vibe he couldn't resist. Maybe he should let her play with _him_ instead of the other way around.

"I'm in town with my brother..."

"Could be interesting."

Dean faltered. "Uh...yeah...no! No. Sammy, he's uh..."

"A prude?"

"Not exactly. See he kinda...is in mourning."

"No fun."

"None at all."

"Pity."

"Jesus," Dean squeaked. She moved fast, and didn't mince words. "I mean...yeah."

She saw right through him and smiled over the edge of her glass as she finished her drink. When she had finished she put it down on the bar. She took Dean's drink from his hand and set it down as well before lacing her arm through his and pulling him away toward the door.

"I have a place," she said, leaning in close and breathing into his ear. "Not far."

Not far was good. Dean was as turned on as he was going to get, making him feel like a kid about to get laid for the first time. He saw a great deal of humiliation in his near future if they didn't hurry up and get at it. Not good for someone who prided themselves on taking it slow and making it count. She was about to screw up his reputation.

Outside the air was crisp and cool. Dean didn't feel the chill at all, especially when Maria pulled him around the corner into the mouth of an alley and pushed him up against the wall. She took advantage of him, with tongue, reminding him of the she-demon he'd met at the crossroads. He yelped into her mouth when her long nails dug into his ass through his jeans. When she finally let him come up for air he was panting.

"What blond," he wheezed. "Jesus Christ..."

She laughed, a deep, throaty laugh. He hadn't tasted tobacco on her breath but it occurred to him to ask her if she smoked. Something had seasoned her voice.

Strains of the Kinks' "Lola" entered his head.

If she were a guy, he wasn't sure he'd mind at this point, but he had faith in his ability to tell the difference.

Her fingers fumbled at his belt. Nails scratched at the denim separating her from his crotch. It made him groan.

"Not gonna make it..." he mumbled, kissing her neck. He slipped one hand slipped inside her shirt, and pushed aside the lacy material of her bra.

Oh, yeah. Those were real.

"It's okay," she said. "I'll take good care of you."

"Here?" For the second time in less than a half hour Dean's voice warbled up an octave.

"Here."

He tone was decisive. So were her actions, and Dean's upstairs brain promptly short-circuited as she engaged his downstairs brain. She kissed his mouth, nipped at his lips, all the while petting him like he was a puppy. When she abruptly took her hands away from him he groaned. She wasn't done, was she?

His eyes opened. He expected to see her looking at him with a smirk or something, confirming that she'd just been playing with him like she'd suggested the blond would. He was slightly startled when he didn't see her in front of him.

He was even more startled only second later as she made her presence known.

"Holy..."

After that he was incoherent. At the _very_ back of his mind he wondered if this wasn't a huge risk he was taking letting her have her way with him without protection. The front of his mind didn't care because it felt so good he was going to drop dead any minute anyway. The furthest things from his mind were the fact they were outside in public and everything that had anything to do with demons, ghosts, vampires or freaky baby brothers.

It was all he could do to keep from pulling her hair out by the roots. Instead he dug his fingers into the wall behind him. The skin was scraped raw within seconds. The sound of his own panting drowned out everything else: the music thumping inside the bar, the traffic going by on the street, the bursts of laughter and conversation that erupted every time the bar door opened.

A car honked.

If they were to be caught and arrested, Dean fervently hoped it wouldn't be until after he...

_Oh, yeah. Here we go._

He sagged heavily against the wall, struggling to remain upright on legs that felt like jelly. Sweat ran down his temples and the back of his neck. He was having a hard time catching his breath.

She pulled his pants down further, exposing his hips and the tops of his thighs. Her soft moans and the flicker of her tongue against spent flesh told him there was more to come if he wanted it. He leaned his head back against the wall, and stroked her soft hair, letting it run gently through his fingers. She rubbed his belly with her hands, kissing him just below his navel. He heard her low chuckle.

"I like the way you taste Mr. Winchester." Her teeth nibbled at his hipbone. She moved lower, nuzzling his groin. "Oh, I definitely like the way you taste."

He was getting aroused again, and didn't want to risk another round out in an alleyway open to the street. If he were arrested for indecent exposure and sent back to prison, Sam would probably let Hendrickson have him, just to teach him a lesson.

"You know, we better..."

Dean stopped abruptly.

Mr. Winchester? He hadn't mentioned his last name, had he?

Maria's fingers traced a path up the inside of his thigh. "The femoral artery," she said softly. "I can feel your heartbeat."

He looked down. The headlights from a passing car brightened the alley, illuminated the flash of white fangs sliding down over human teeth.

"Oh, shit." Struggling got him nowhere. "Oh no, no. Don't..."

It happened in the blink of an eye. Sharp fangs pierced sensitive skin, sank deep into delicate flesh. Blood, the sustenance she sought, burst through a punctured artery wall, ran down her chin, dripped onto the pavement. She fed until she was satisfied, and stopped just as her prey's heart rhythm began to flutter erratically.

Dean's agonized scream had been buried beneath a burst of applause as the band concluded their set. No one heard him. No one would notice the incongruous sight of a woman making off into the night with an unconscious man slung over her shoulder either.

There was only one person in town who would have believed what they'd seen anyway.

And he was busy watching _E.R_.


	4. Chapter 4

When Dean wasn't back by dawn, Sam didn't think anything of it. His brother had probably hooked up with a girl and was now lying around in the chick's bed, sexually sated and completely hung over. It wasn't until noon that he began getting a little antsy regarding Dean's absence. He called Dean's phone and got voice mail. He called several times in fact, each time getting the same result. Finally, when Oprah came on at four, Sam decided he'd better get off his ass and go see what trouble his womanizing sibling had gotten himself into this time.

They were running pretty even on the scale of "pulled your ass out of the fire didn't I" incidents at the moment. Sam hoped Dean wasn't in any sort of trouble, but he put a mark up on his side of the tally board anyway just because he had to go check things out. He was still pretty confident that Dean was just mad at him and thought making Sam sweat it out would teach him a lesson. The argument had been stupid anyway. They'd fought over who was going to pay for dinner. Who paid for dinner ultimately got to choose what dinner would be, and Sam felt it was his turn. Being rather short of temper lately, he had been a little forceful, and more than a little obnoxious when stating his case.

In short, he'd pulled the "I'm way smarter than you therefore I am always right" card by throwing out some vocabulary words Dean had never encountered before. This type of snobbery was already guaranteed to get under Dean's skin, but when Sam flat out called him stupid and refused to continue the (argument) conversation, Dean went ballistic. Dean going ballistic incited Sam to shove some splinters up under his brother's nails by suggesting that their current case was going nowhere due to some fault of Dean's.

As they suspected it was where their father currently called home, and it was possible Sam was destined to go there himself, it was obvious Dean had been pushed too far when he told Sam to "go to hell," and stomped out the door.

Sam immediately felt guilty but stubbornly refused to go off in pursuit. Now, as he quizzed the bar employees regarding Dean's whereabouts, he regretted that decision. He should have followed his brother out and apologized.

One of the bartenders said he saw Dean in the company of a tall red-headed woman. They'd left together. He thought they'd turned right as they'd exited the door. One of the waitresses chuckled as she recounted seeing the two making out in the alley as she left after her shift.

"Do you know who she was?" Sam asked.

"Nah. Never seen her in here before. She's probably a guest over there at the ho-tel."

He'd have to quiz the desk clerks then, find out what room the girl occupied. It was there, no doubt, where he'd find his brother. Sam issued his thanks and left the bar. He did intend to go back to the hotel, but decided to check out the alley where the waitress had seen Dean making out with his conquest. It was just a hunch. Sam remained convinced Dean was curled up next to his woman in one of the hotel rooms, sleeping off a few rounds of Jack Daniels.

The alley was narrow, and surprisingly clean. Sam stepped around the corner and gave it a once over. He didn't know what he expected to find.

The bricks making up the wall of the bar were painted a pale, cream color. Sam's eye caught some odd markings on them. A keen observer used to searching for sigils and glyphs, charms and curses, he first thought they were some sort of writing. Upon closer inspection he saw they were nothing but smudges.

Reaching out a finger, he scraped a bit of color off with his nail. He thought the dark smudges looked familiar, and as he sniffed at the material he knew he was correct. The smudges were smears of blood. It was fresh too. Not good.

"Son of a bitch," he muttered.

He turned around, dropping his gaze toward the ground. There was more blood, a lot more blood, some of it scuffed and smeared as if someone had stepped in it, or as if they had been trying to hide it. Sam looked around the perimeter of the smudges and saw a series of drops. They arced around and doubled back out of the alley. He followed them out onto the sidewalk, down two blocks, and around a corner where they led up to the curb in front of a parking meter. That's where they ended. Whoever had been bleeding must have gotten into a car. It hadn't been the Impala either. Dean's car was still parked in front of the hotel and Sam had the keys.

Sam went back to the alley. He dropped down to a crouch and pulled a small flashlight from his pocket. He searched around upon the pavement for a good five minutes before he found what he really hadn't wanted to find. As he picked it up he groaned miserably.

"Ah, shit, Dean."

It was a fang.

The vampire had found them, and it had his brother.

Tucking the tooth and his flashlight back into his pocket, Sam stood up and stared at the smears of blood on the wall. He turned his head to follow the pattern of dots that led out of the alley. Dean had been bleeding when he was taken. That was good. He had been alive.

How long, though, would the thing keep him alive?

Sam realized he needed help, knowledgeable help, and there was only one person he could think of who could find a vampire quickly.

His cell phone was in his hand in an instant. He thumbed quickly through the names on his contact list, past Bobby, past Ellen, past Jo and Joshua. When he found the name he sought he wasted no time dialing the number. He just hoped to god she would answer. She should. She owed him one big time.

She answered. It was midday. She sounded sleepy. No surprise.

"Sam?"

"Lenore. Hey, I need to cash in that favor."


	5. Chapter 5

Dean lay curled up around himself in a fetal position, only half conscious, plotting all the ways in which he was going to torture the bitch vampire who bit him below the belt. Dead man's blood was just the beginning. He'd stake her with hawthorn, or hazel wood, and dribble molten silver down her belly. Maybe stick a few pins in those pretty green eyes. That would sting like hell.

Then he'd force her to eat a monumental pile of garlic bread with roasted garlic spread on top.

His stomach growled hungrily.

_Damnit._

He uncoiled and raised his head. A little tactile exploration revealed she hadn't bitten him _there_, but had gotten too damn close for comfort. It certainly hurt enough and by god she'd all but drained him. He was light-headed, dizzy and felt like he was going to pass out if he so much as moved another inch. With a groan he put his head back down and closed his eyes again. He hadn't much liked the scenery anyway.

His surroundings were dark beyond the thick steel wire that made up the walls of his cage. Each crisscrossing wire was as thick as his finger. The holes between them weren't big enough to get a hand through. Everything was reinforced with steel pipe at each corner and at regular intervals across the face of each panel. The door was hinged on the outside, and secured with a combination lock and chain.

Dean smelled electricity. He would think twice about even touching the walls of his prison.

Apparently she wasn't taking any chances.

Sighing, he opened his eyes once more. There were bloodstains on the concrete floor just under his nose. Further along the floor sat a plate. It held what looked like like a piece of beef, rare and still oozing blood, along with a glass of red wine.

"Who do you think I am, Hannibal Lector?" Sitting up slowly, Dean rolled his eye in the direction of his captor, who he'd sensed was somewhere near.

She was sitting on a plastic patio chair just outside the door. She wore a white tank top and had her long auburn hair pulled back in a pony tail. When she replied she did not smile. She was not pleased.

"That's to replenish your blood. Eat it because that's all you're getting."

Dean poked at the meat. "Do I have the option of sending it back to the kitchen for a little more time on the grill? I think I hear it mooing."

"Funny."

"I thought so anyway. Give me time and I can probably come up with something better. My comic timing is suffering from blood loss." Dean gestured toward the side of the cage. "Can you turn off the juice? I'd like to lean."

He was surprised when she got up and did as he requested. The hum of the electricity ceased. Dean leaned his back up against the cage wall and brought his knees up to his chest. He rested his elbows on his knees, rubbing at his gritty eyes with trembling fingers. Yeah, he'd have to eat something.

"How long have I been out?"

Maria came back and sat down in her chair again. "All night, and the better part of the day."

"Great." Dean gave her a hard stare. "So. You're the vampire I've been after."

"In the flesh."

She seemed to think that line was funny. He didn't. Now they were even.

"Okay," he said. "You caught me. You win. Turn me loose and I'll hit the road."

"Do I look stupid?"

"Do you _really_ want me to answer that?"

"Do you _really_ have a death wish?" Her eyes glittered ominously. "I know who you are. Hunters have their grapevine, we have ours. I let you go and you'll come back in here with that brother of yours and give me hell."

"Not necessarily. We've left your kind alone before."

Maria laughed. "Oh yeah, I know about that too. Lenore and her cow sucking clan." She leaned forward slightly in her chair. "I don't drink from cows, Hunter. I suck the marrow from human bones."

"Yeah, I saw your handiwork in the morgue."

"That? That was just the tip of the iceberg, honey. I am not in the habit of leaving my trash lying around where people can trip over it." She shrugged. "But sometimes it can't be helped."

"So what are you going to do with me? Feed me to your fledglings?"

Rising, Maria stood up and slowly paced back and forth in front of the cage as if gathering her thoughts. Finally she stopped and leaned her hands across the back of the chair. "I work alone," she said. Pausing to let that sink in, she then continued. "But I recently decided that it is time for me to find a mate." With inhuman speed she made her way to the side of the cage where she knelt down and put her face down level with Dean's. "Someone strong. Someone handsome." A slow smile crept across her lips. "Someone who knows all about those who hunt things like us. Who better than to keep us safe from harm, eh?"

Dean moved closer to the barrier separating them. He leaned in toward her and met her eye to eye. "I. Don't. Think. So."

She burst out into laughter, and in seconds was gone from sight, disappearing into the shadows in the far reaches of the room. Dean heard her though, and her words made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

"Oh, I know so. It's already begun, Dean. I'll have you in the palm of my hand before the next new moon."

He cringed away from the side of the cage as he heard the flip of a switch. The electricity began humming again.

"Great. Just freakin, frackin' great," Dean sighed. He glanced at his watch. "Alright Sam. Rescue efforts better start in three, two, one..."


	6. Chapter 6

It took three days for Lenore to arrive. In the meantime Sam continued his search for the vampire with little success. She'd gone to ground and taken her prey with her. With despair in his heart, Sam kept an eye on the hospitals and the city morgue, praying every day Dean would not turn up dead. The absence of a body gave him hope his brother might still be alive.

From what little Sam knew about vampires he figured she might be keeping Dean alive as a food source. Until he grew too weak for her to feed from, she wouldn't kill him, and that might be a while. Dean was tough. He'd survived being torn open by a demon and a horrific car crash, then continued to live a full twelve hours after _that_.

Sam sincerely hoped the current situation wouldn't get so bad someone would have to make a deal with the demon. That would not be good.

_I doubt I'm worth much in trade value, since it already thinks it owns me._

Not a comforting thought, that.

Lenore arrived at the door to the hotel room after midnight. Sam was awake, pacing, when he heard her knock. She was alone, and that surprised him.

"I have others with me," she said softly, as she noted his expression. "They have my back."

"I'm not going to hurt you."

She smiled gently. "I know, Sam. It's not you I'm worried about." Circling the room, Lenore examined everything in it quite carefully before settling down on the edge of one of the beds. "Where's your brother?"

Sam sat down across from her in a chair. "That's the problem."

"He's missing?"

"Abducted."

"Interesting. By whom?"

"The vampire we were Hunting."

Lenore's expression hardened. "Pretty ballsy of you, Sam, asking me here to help you hunt down one of my own kind."

He had to admit it was an odd request. "She's not like you though," he said.

"A vegetarian is still human, they just have different eating habits from the rest of the population."

"Yeah, and if there was a - a bovine uprising - would human hunting cows stop and make that distinction before seeking their revenge? This vampire is perpetuating the myth that all of you are evil, Lenore. That puts _you_ and_ your_ people in danger from Hunters like me and my brother. Most of us can't make the distinction between those who drink human blood and those who don't."

"Some of you don't care," she said coldly.

"And some of us want to separate the truth from the lies!" Sam retorted. He sighed, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "Look, I just want Dean back, preferably alive, and if this vampire has to be destroyed in the process I'm sorry, I really am, but that's how it will have to be."

She sat very still, absorbing his words. That was one of the eerie thing about vampires, especially the older ones like Luther and Lenore. They were very conservative with their movements, very methodical. They preferred to move at a slower pace – unless they were hunting or threatened. Sam knew from experience how fast and strong they really were.

"Vampire," she said finally. "Singular. We hunt in packs, Sam. What makes you think we're dealing with just one?"

"Ratio of known kills and missing persons. There isn't enough evidence to suggest there is more than one vampire operating in Fargo."

Lenore cocked her head, considering his words.. "A lone vampire is extremely rare, although with our numbers so depleted I imagine it's not beyond the realm of possibility."

"Do you think you can find her?" Sam asked. He reached over to the nightstand and picked up his notepad. "The people who saw her with Dean the night he disappeared gave me a general description."

"Which is?"

"Tall, dark red hair, green eyes. She wore a stone choker around her neck, and one person thought she had a tattoo."

"A tattoo?"

"A cobra, on the back of her left shoulder, close to her neck."

Lenore stared at him. "Are you sure?"

"Fairly sure. The witnesses all seemed to agree." Sam felt a chill run down his spine. "Why? Do you know her?"

"Unfortunately," she hissed. "Your serial killer analogy was apt, Sam." Rising, Lenore reached for her pocket, withdrawing a cell phone. "Her name is Maria. She's a killer of humans, and other vampires. There's a reason why she travels alone."

"Great. So a vampire cannibal has my brother? That's just terrific."

She made a call, her brow furrowed with concern. "David. Watch your back, keep Karen close. It's Maria we're dealing with." She ended without a good-bye, flipping the phone shut with a snap. "There's something you need to consider, Sam."

The intensity of her expression was telling. Fear made his voice waver slightly. "That I won't get Dean back alive?"

"No," she said quietly. "That you will."

Sam frowned. "What?"

"The victims you know about have all been male, correct?"

"Yes."

Lenore nodded. "These haven't been random acts. She's searching for a mate. Her intent isn't to kill Dean, but to turn him, and if she succeeds you'll be left with a decision to make." Her eyes narrowed. "Do you understand me, Sam?"

He stared at her. She was forcing him to accept what he'd been trying not to think about since Dean's disappearance. "I understand," he said hoarsely. "I understand far better than you know."


	7. Chapter 7

Dean thought that maybe, just maybe, he could get away from his captor if the conditions were just right. She did, after all, have to come into the cage at some point to feed him and empty the bucket she'd supplied for him to piss in. He could slip away from her, lock her up in the cage, and bolt for the door.

It was a simple plan. It wouldn't be hard. He'd just have to distract her a little bit.

Problem was, she wasn't that easily distracted, nor was she that slow. He found_ that_ out the first time she did enter the cage. He wasn't prepared for her strength or her speed. He'd forgotten how easily she'd overpowered him before, only remembered after she had knocked him to the floor and pinned him there. No amount of fighting could break her hold. His blows didn't even slow her down. Before he could even register what was happening she had sunk her teeth into his shoulder.

First there was pain, a whole lot of it. It made him clamp his teeth down over a yell and arch his back. He could do little else but ride it through as she tore his flesh and began feeding from the bloody wound. Somewhere along the way the pain gave way to something a little more pleasant, something perversely sexual. He heard her sucking at his throat. He felt her nails digging into his hips as she held him down. His body shuddered against her. The sensations flowing through it were similar to orgasm, but different.

Better.

Ultimately it did trigger a sexual response. He might have taken her, if she'd allowed it, if she hadn't drained him too much to maintain an arousal. Hell, by the time she was done he couldn't keep his eyelids up let alone anything else.

_Man..._

When it was over he lay sprawled on the cement floor of his cage, weak and unable to move at all. He heard her tidying up around him and let the soft sounds she made lull him into unconsciousness. When he came around again she was there with his dinner. The scent of the food made his mouth water. She'd left him wine, and meat again, barely cooked. She wasn't much of a chef apparently. That made sense.

He lay there quietly until he had regained enough strength to sit up without getting dizzy. She was there, sitting outside the cage on her plastic chair, casually filing her nails. Her lipstick wasn't even smeared.

"Bitch," he mumbled. Slowly, he dragged himself up to lean heavily against the side of the cage furthest away from her. "You could have warned me."

"Do you warn your bacon and eggs before you eat breakfast?"

"That was breakfast?" Dean fingered his neck. The bleeding had stopped. Some sort of coagulant in her saliva? Interesting. "You forgot the maple syrup."

"You are funny. I think I'm going to like having you around for eternity."

"Screw you."

"I might take you up on that," she chuckled. "You'd like that wouldn't you?"

"No."

"Liar. I felt you. You're a horny little bastard aren't you, Dean."

"Maybe, but I'm not a necrophiliac."

Maria leaned forward in her chair and pointed her nail file at him. "See now, that's a misconception. Most vampires are not dead when they're first changed. The true undead are something entirely different, but then you probably know that given your profession. Do I look like a zombie to you?"

Dean had to admit, she didn't.

"We're just damn hard to kill. Our bodies are different, altered. You'll see."

"I'll die first." Dean reached for the cup of wine and drained half of it. It got rid of his shakes, gave him a little more strength. He probably should eat. He eyed the steak dubiously.

"Well sometimes it does happen. Never lasts though. If it's done properly the change will occur whether you're breathing or not. You might want to keep that in mind."

He rolled his eyes toward her and gave her an ugly glare.

"And," she added. "Don't even think your little brother will ever find you. I've lived a long time, and outwitted better, more experienced Hunters than you two idiots many times over."

"Sam's no idiot." Dean frowned. He wasn't an idiot either. Of course he had gotten himself into this _idiotic_ mess, so maybe he _wa_s somewhat of an idiot. Okay, maybe not an idiot, maybe just a fool. There, that sounded better.

"Well I suppose if he wanted to he could tap into his psychic powers and hunt you down that way, but like you said, he's no idiot." Maria paused to examine the job she'd done on her nails. "To do such a thing would be like waving a flare around saying 'come and get me' to that demon of yours." She looked up from her hands and smiled at him. "I don't think he'll want to do that, do you?"

"You think you know us? You're wrong, lady."

"Have I upset you, Dean?" She tut-tutted at him as if he were a child having a tantrum. "You didn't seriously think I wouldn't do a background check on my future lifemate, did you? I know all about you. I know all about Sam, your father, your mother..."

"You don't know anything!" Dean hissed.

"You'll forget all about them eventually of course. They'll stop meaning anything to you. I can barely remember my family. That happens when you become so much more than human." Maria got up from her chair and tucked her file into the back pocket of her jeans. "Sammy'll learn it too, Dean." She sidled up to the cage and peered down at him. "You think he'll escape his fate? You're wrong. He'll become one of them, and survive among the victors in this coming war. He'll be safe. So will you. Because when the demons come, it will be the humans who suffer, not us." Her voice softened. "Isn't that what you want, Dean? To be safe? To have Sam be safe?"

The intensity of her gaze alone forced him to answer. He didn't want to, he didn't want to give her any more power over him than she already had...

"Yes," he whispered. "More than anything."

"Then stop fighting it, baby," she purred. "Stop fighting it."


	8. Chapter 8

Time dragged itself forward, tormenting Sam with every hour that passed. Hours became days. Days became weeks. He barely ate. He couldn't sleep. Sheer, obsessive determination drove him onward.

Lenore was becoming anxious, unhappy with their lack of progress. She and her companions wanted to go home.

Sam paced back and forth in a room scattered with maps and notes pinned up on the walls. Colored pushpins marked places where they'd already searched. Lines drawn in yellow highlighter crisscrossed another map, marking out their current hunting grounds. Maria remained elusive. There had been no sign of Dean anywhere.

At one point Sam had taken Lenore out to the alley where Dean had disappeared. A vampire's sense of smell was more developed than that of a bloodhound. He hoped she could pick something up from the blood spilled on the pavement. A rainstorm had washed most of it away. Lenore was unable to lock onto the scent.

"I already had his scent, Sam, and yours, from the last time we met. Maria has him hidden very well. I've been trying to pick him up since I arrived. I've gotten nothing."

"You think she might have taken him out of the city?"

"It's very possible."

Sam was losing hope, and hope was just about the only thing he had left these days. When Lenore phoned in after a long night of fruitless searching and quietly suggested they call off the hunt , he felt the last bit of that hope slipping away from him. Dean was dead, or might as well be, because they weren't going to find him.

"Lenore, please," Sam switched his cell phone from one ear to the other. "Just give me a few more days. I'll come up with a new plan. Something. Just...please. Don't go yet."

"_Sam, my people need me."_

"Lenore..."

"_And frankly, I'd like you to come with us. It's likely the first person they come after when they reemerge will be you. You're dangerous to them. Surviving family members usually are, you know that! They'll come and they'll kill you."_

"Dean would never..."

"_Dean won't be Dean anymore, especially if he's bonded to her. She's the definition of evil, Sam! She'll warp him so far from what you know you won't even recognize him." _

Sam closed his eyes, slumping down into a chair as his legs gave out on him. He was exhausted, and with exhaustion came a strange since of clarity. Lenore was right, Sam realized. They weren't going to find Dean unless Maria wanted them to.

"Maybe this is the best thing that could have happened," he said softly. "I should let them come, take me too. I don't have anything left to lose."

"_You don't mean that, Sam."_ Lenore said. There was a pause._ "Look, I'll give you another week, okay? But after that I'm leaving, with or without you." _

"Thanks, Lenore." Sam replied wearily. "Thank you."

"_Sure, Sam._"

He hung up. Almost immediately the phone rang again. He answered it without checking the caller i.d., thinking it was Lenore calling him back for some reason or another.

"Hello?"

"_Sammy?"_

Sam sat straight up in his chair. There was static on the line, but the voice was unmistakable. "Dean? Dean, where are you? Are you okay?"

"_I'm fine."_

Funny thing was, he didn't sound fine. He sounded tired, and scared. Sam's hand tightened around the phone.

"Dean, where are you?"

"_I don't know. Look, Sammy, she's only given me a minute so I've got to make this quick."_

"She? The vampire? Dean..."

Dean interrupted with words that eerily echoed those Sam had heard once before under not-so-dissimilar circumstances.

"_Stop looking for me, Sam. In fact, you run as fast as you can in the opposite direction. Do you understand me?" _

"No. No way..."

"_Sam, dammit, don't go all stubborn on me."_

"I'm not letting her have you."

"_You don't have much choice!"_ Dean snapped.

They both went quiet. Sam didn't know what to say. Dean took up the threads of the conversation once more.

"_I'm sorry,"_ he whispered._ "I'm sorry, Sammy."_

"It's not your fault," Sam said roughly.

"_Take care of yourself. Just...keep moving. Stay one step ahead of that bastard demon. If you get into trouble, go to Bobby. Okay? Promise me." _

"I promise, Dean, but..."

"_G'bye, Sam."_

"Dean!"

The line exploded in static.

Sam took the phone away from his ear and stared at it as if he were surprised to find no one on the other end. After only a moment he brought it back up to his ear, called his provider, and sweet talked the girl who answered into tracing his last incoming call.

Not unexpectedly, she could not pinpoint its origins.

Technical difficulties.

He calmly hung up the phone before grief and frustration led him to slam a fist down on the tabletop hard enough to make an ashtray jump off onto the floor. The wooden table cracked beneath his hand. His handwritten notes, scattered willy nilly throughout the room, began fluttering around in a sudden upsurge of warm air. In the lamp beside the door a light bulb exploded with a bang.

It ended as abruptly as it had begun.

Sam sat frozen in place, staring at the shattered glass glittering on the dark carpeting.

What the hell...?

"Oh, God."

Had he done that?

In his mind's eye he recalled the large crack in Bobby's ceiling.

The next minute found him rummaging through the Impala's trunk, searching through every book on the occult they had in their little library of reference material. He pulled a few volumes out, including with the book Bobby had given them, and their father's journal, before heading back into the room. He dumped everything onto the table and began a new course of research. He found there were specific things he needed to get. Lenore could probably help him. He sure as hell wasn't going to call Bobby on this one.

Scrying spells occupied the gray area between white and black magic. Given that Sam's abilities were tied in with demonic forces, he was pretty sure anything he did was going to have at least one foot in the shadows.

But if it meant he could save his brother...

He didn't much give a damn.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean knew Sam wouldn't be able to find him. Maria wasn't leaving a trail for anyone to follow. She didn't have to set one foot outside her door if she didn't want to because she had a readily available source of food. If she did go out it was to get food for _Dean_, but a pretty woman buying steak and wine wouldn't set off any alarm bells.

He stayed tired. She fed him once a day, the same fare as usual, only as time passed she stopped even bothering to cook the meat. On the flip side she fed _from _him two, sometimes three times a day. Whether or not she left him conscious often depended on her mood. If he got smart with her she'd drain him into darkness. If he was quiet and cooperative she'd leave him with his senses intact.

Dean spent a lot of time unconscious. Reining in his smart mouth was difficult for him, especially when he was under duress, and if being vampire fodder wasn't duress, he didn't know what was. What bothered him the most wasn't the pain and discomfort, however, but the pleasure. It was hard not to enjoy what she made him feel when she fed. He was becoming somewhat addicted to it. If she were late, or if she skipped a meal or two, he'd find himself feeling decidedly uncomfortable.

_Like a cow in need of a good milking. Christ. _

"You're a responsible pet owner," he told her once, and she was. She kept him and the cage clean and tidy. A weekly (or at least he assumed it was weekly) shower was the only freedom he was given, and then she stood watching him outside the shower stall. There was no way he could escape her. She was strong and fast, and to get away from her he would have to get up the stairs and through a locked door.

He'd learned his prison was located in the partially finished basement of a house on a suburban street. There were no windows in the thick concrete walls. There was a "living" room, which held nothing but his cage; the shower, located next to a washer and dryer in another part of the basement; and then there was a bedroom. The only thing in the bedroom was the bed. It was a big queen-sized bed, with a wrought iron head and foot board. There were chains looped around the iron bars.

"Kinky," Dean said, the first time he saw it.

One day he woke up in it, sprawled out on his back, completely naked. Maria stood at the foot of the bed looking down at him, her arms crossed over her chest, also naked. Dean gave her a wry look.

"So, we're going to add rape to the charges stacked against you?"

"Take another look," she drawled. "You're not tied down."

He raised a hand, and then a foot. He wasn't chained, not at all, but that really didn't mean anything. He could bolt for the door if he wanted, but he'd never make it. She'd be on him if he so much as twitched a muscle.

The bed dipped as she climbed over the foot board. She inched her way up his body, rubbing her soft skin against the length of it. It responded, of course, especially when she reached his throat and sunk her teeth into his jugular. He could feel the arterial blood burst from the puncture wound into her mouth as if she'd just bitten into a piece of very ripe fruit. It made him dizzy.

She fed hungrily. She'd neglected him the night before. The sounds she made as she sucked the blood from him turned him on even more. He wasn't so dumb that he didn't realize his presence in her bed was an invitation. Actually, he realized, it was more of a demand. There was no way he wasn't going to have sex with her. There was no way she would let him get away with abstinence, so he might as well enjoy it.

Dean rolled over, taking her with him. He found himself on top, looking down into her face as she raised her legs up along his thighs, his hips, his sides. Her fangs had slid back inside their sheathes but her mouth was stained with blood, his blood.

The scent was both nauseating and intoxicating. Dean resisted as long as he could but his resolve crumbled when Maria grabbed his hair in her hands and pulled him down toward her. His mouth was on hers before he knew what was happening. A heartbeat later he was inside her, thrusting hard, almost frantically. He sampled his own blood, sucking it from her lips. She dug claws into his back, drawing even more, making him hiss in pain. She gave him her hands, the fingers slick with blood. He took his time licking and sucking each finger clean, savoring the sharp, metallic taste exploding upon his tongue. The sensation it produced mirrored the orgasm that now raced along every nerve, through every muscle. It shot right through his skull, down his spine, into his dick...

Back into her. She shuddered. Her fangs descended. She fed again, prolonging the ecstasy, making him whimper and moan.

She did not return him to his cage afterward. Instead she curled herself around his body, holding him like a treasured possession while he slept.

When he woke he was still tired, groggy. Maria kissed his forehead and handed him his cell phone.

"Call your brother. Tell him good-bye." Her nails dug into his face as she grabbed him roughly by the chin and forced him to look at her. "Because I'm not letting you go, do you understand?"

Dean nodded obediently, and dialed Sam's number.


	10. Chapter 10

All Sam would tell Lenore was that he would have Maria's location before the end of the week. She didn't ask questions, which was good. He didn't want to tell her the answers.

If Dean knew what he was going to do Sam's ass would be grass.

It took him two days to prepare, and a third just to work up the guts to commit to doing it. He had everything he needed. Lenore was on hand, "just in case I stop breathing or something." Again, she didn't ask questions. She knew what he was attempting, she just didn't know he actually had the power to do it. He could sense her skepticism. He threw her a bone.

"I'm clairvoyant."

"Is that how you found your way back to the nest that night?" she asked quietly.

"Partially, mostly because I'm a damn good tracker."

"You know this is pretty dangerous stuff you're playing with here, Sam."

"I know."

"But..." she prompted.

He met her eye. "I want my brother back."

She tipped her head in a nod of acquiescence. Sam turned to the business at hand.

The spell was surprisingly simple, but that was often no indication of its power, or potential danger. A lot of that was determined by the amount of power available to the one performing the ritual. Sam had every reason to be concerned.

He rolled his shoulders and took a deep breath. Years of training made incantation almost second nature for him. His low voice was perfectly suited to it. His pronunciation was flawless. By the age of nine he had bested his father in the art of Latin recitation. By thirteen he could read exorcisms written in half a dozen different ancient languages. He knew Aramaic.

Dean could barely read English.

He felt a surge of affection, allowed himself a small smile. So Dean wasn't an academic. He made up for it in other ways.

_By the blood we share..._

He winced as the knife dug into his palm. He clenched his fist and pumped it several times. Blood dripped steadily into a silver bowl sitting on the table before him. From somewhere behind him he heard Lenore hiss. The scent of blood was probably making her uncomfortable. He'd forgotten that it might. He'd have to apologize to her for his insensitivity later.

Sam closed his eyes and continued the recitation.

_Bonded by blood, I seek thee..._

He let his mind go blank, calling on the knowledge he'd gained from his research, slipping deeper and deeper into the trance he needed. The power was there. He could feel it just beyond his reach.

Deeper.

Deeper.

There.

_I seek thee...Dean, where the hell are you?_

Light burst before his eyes. It was like one of his visions, but different. He felt no pain.

In fact, he felt pretty good.

He opened his eyes. A face hovered before him, beneath him.

_Her_ eyes were the dark green color of an Old World forest, lit with a fire burning deep within. Her lips were full and sensuous, plump and red like ripe berries. He felt her hands trace the length of his spine as he moved against her, inside her. She bit deep into his shoulder. He heard himself utter a sharp cry of pain. The pace of their lovemaking increased, grew more desperate, almost primal in its intensity.

Her lips came up bloodstained. He bent to taste them. She guided his head so he could put his mouth to her throat, to her breasts, encouraging him to bite back, which he did. He tasted _her_ blood then, good, sweet, hot blood. It made him come, made him want more. She arched up against him when he bit her again.

Raising her hands to his face, she held him, gazing deeply into his eyes. He knew from her pleased expression she expected to see something else. When she did not find what she was seeking, but rather something totally _un_expected, her look turned ominous. Her snarl revealed a set of vicious fangs.

"Sam," she growled, and pulled back a fist.

Sam cried out as the blow connected. Pulling away from the pain, he fled from the light, seeking the safety of his own mind and body. His vision became obscured by shadows. He faltered and lost his way until a flickering light caught his attention. Instinctively he turned toward it, fearing the shadows now seeming to close in around him. As he fumbled around in the dark the light drew him in closer, and closer until he could see it much better

It was a sickly yellow-green, the color of pus, and came from within a pair of slit-pupiled eyes staring back at him. Those eyes caught him, pinned him, held him fast. He felt the touch of an alien consciousness as it sought to make contact and instead of pulling away, he _reached for it_.

_No_. _I...can't..._

For a split second he was completely enthralled, straining to hear the whispering voices, wanting to hear what they said, do what they asked. His flight back to his body was aborted. He was lost. The demon had him. It spoke to him in his father's voice.

_I wondering when you would finally come to me._

Panic stricken by the words, Sam suddenly began to fight for his freedom, trying to claw his way back out of the dark. He regained his strength of will. He was himself again.

_Let. Me. GO!_

White light flared. He felt the demon's hold loosen and heard its roar of frustration as Sam slipped away from it and dove for "home."

Sam's eyes snapped open, revealing a seedy hotel room and his own reflection upon the still surface of a bowl of bloody water. It startled him. His head jerked back so violently he heard his neck pop. One hand shot out toward the bowl, knocking it over and spilling its contents across the table. Bloodstained water dripped down onto the carpet. The blood scent triggered memories of a red-haired woman with pale skin and green eyes. He could feel the last vestiges of an orgasm not his own shuddering through his body, and the rapid flutter of his wildly beating heart.

He'd found Maria.

The demon had almost taken him.

He couldn't breathe. Lenore was there beside him, shaking his shoulder.

"Sam? Sam!"

Sam pushed her away. Staggering to his feet he stumbled into the bathroom where he was violently ill. Lenore came to him a moment later, sinking down to her knees beside him with a cool, damp cloth. She cleaned his face, pushed the sweat soaked tendrils of his hair back from his eyes. He sagged heavily against her, struggling to catch his breath. It was a long time before he could speak.

Finally...

"I know where he is."


	11. Chapter 11

Maria tended to be rather moody. She could caress him gently one moment and in the next be digging her nails into his flesh. By virtue of previous experiences Dean wasn't completely surprised when she broadsided him with a fist hard enough to knock him off of her, out of bed, and onto the floor. The blow split his lip. He sucked at the blood as he watched her crawl out of the bed after him. The look in her eyes sent him scrambling backward.

"What? What's wrong?"

She was fast, and she was strong. She hit him again, flattening him to the floor. A third time and he was having trouble retaining consciousness. He barely felt it as she grabbed him by the arms and dragged him across the room and into his cage. Dean fell to the concrete floor, naked, scraped all the hell and completely pissed off. He glared up at her as she slammed the door shut, spun the lock, and flipped on the electricity.

A cut on his brow was bleeding. He touched it gingerly, wincing. "What the hell? What did I do?"

"You didn't do anything," she hissed. She paced, obviously still infuriated. "Son-of-a-bitch. I'll rip his eyes out."

"Oooh. Kay. You want to tell me who's got your panties in such a knot?" Dean worked his sore jaw back and forth. "I think you owe me that much."

"Your. Brother." Maria growled. Her hands curled into claws.

He couldn't help but chuckle, although he was still completely mystified as to what exactly had set her off. "Sam _can_ be a little annoying sometimes."

"He's a fool who has just damned himself to hell!" Maria screeched. She paced back and forth in front of the cage, pausing only long enough to go back to the bed and snatch up a robe. "I'm not ready for this. You're not ready."

Dean's narrowed. He felt his chest tighten. "Ready for what?"

Abruptly she stopped. "Sam has found us. He's coming for you."

"How do you know?"

Maria didn't answer him. Instead she turned on her heel and disappeared into the darkness toward the stairs. Dean thought he heard her mutter something about "travel plans" before she was completely out of earshot.

When he was sure she was gone he let out his breath in a sigh and smiled slightly to himself. "I knew you'd come through, Sammy." He crawled over to where his clothes lay folded and freshly washed in one corner. She'd never struck him as domestic, but after every sexual escapade he would be returned to his cage where clean clothes always awaited him.

Being a vampire's sex slave wasn't half bad, actually. Dean felt a bit of remorse about his impending freedom. He was also somewhat pissed Sam hadn't followed orders and gotten the hell out of Dodge. Dead man's blood and a machete would be the end of Maria, Sam would make sure of that wouldn't he?

Dean's stomach clenched up in a knot. He was stunned by a surge of emotion he hadn't expected. It was so strong it made him gasp.

No. He couldn't let Sam kill Maria. The very idea was abhorrent to him. It made him cringe in upon himself in pain. He frowned. Why should they kill her? She hadn't hurt him, not really. They could just let her go and be on their way.

Right?

He bit his lip anxiously. It would take some convincing, but he thought he could talk sense into Sam. Maria didn't need to be killed. She was okay, she just needed a little guidance. They could help her straighten her life out, stop her from hurting people. Vampires didn't _have_ to kill when they fed. Sam had taught him to look at things from a different perspective, and that was just what Dean was doing, so how could he object to the proposal? Maria wasn't evil, she was just...

_A filthy fang. She's left at least a half dozen, maybe more, innocent people dead in the morgue. We came here to kill her, remember?_

"No," he shook his head, mumbling the word out loud to himself. "No."

No. He couldn't kill her, no more than he could kill Sam. She meant too much to him. He loved her. He loved her, had always loved her, would love her forever.

She'd left him his dinner.

Raw meat.

And wine, thick, viscous wine. There was blood in it. She'd been putting blood in it for a while now. At first he had balked, but thirst backed him into a corner until he had no other choice. He'd started drinking it. It wasn't long before he started craving it, and her.

Dean sipped the wine slowly, savoring each drop as it ran down his throat and lit his gut on fire. He heard the electricity go off. Maria knelt close to the side of the cage. Leaning back toward her, he could feel her breath upon his cheek. He longed to hold her, kiss her...

Fuck her.

He growled a little, deep in his throat.

"There's blood in it again tonight," she said.

"I know." He swirled a finger around inside the cup, coating it in wine and blood before offering it to her to suck.

She was amused. "Do you?" she breathed, and took his finger in her mouth. Her tongue wrapped around it. She applied suction. That turned him on, made him hard again.

"Smelled it. Pig?"

Maria nipped his finger before letting him go. "Human."

Dean drained the cup to it's dregs before tipping it upside down and glancing back over his shoulder. Her eyes glittered with a combination of lust and good humor. The violent mood had apparently passed.

"Give me more," he whispered.


	12. Chapter 12

It was a brick townhouse, slightly run down, in a nondescript neighborhood. Sam pulled up to the curb across the street from it and parked. He glanced at his watch. It wouldn't be long before the sun came up, maybe an hour or so. Sam hoped they could get in and get Dean out within that hour. Once the sun was up, Lenore and her companions would abandon him, and he needed their back up.

He peered out the window. All around them the street was silent. Residents still slumbered safely in their beds. Sam wondered how much sleep they would get if they knew a vampire lived next door.

Sam sighed. The Impala's engine ticked quietly as it cooled. The leather seats creaked as Lenore shifted her weight and rolled down the window. Her nostrils flared, drawing in the the night air. When she turned to look at Sam she seemed somewhat surprised to realize he'd been right.

"He's in there."

"And Maria?" Sam asked.

"She's with him. I don't think she's sensed us yet."

"Good." Reaching for the door handle, Sam made as if to get out of the car. He had weapons ready in the trunk – a wooden stake soaked in dead man's blood, a crossbow, a machete honed to a razor sharp edge.

Lenore stopped him with a hand upon his arm. "She's old, Sam, and strong. Don't underestimate her, and don't..." She hesitated. "You can't trust him."

By "him" she meant Dean.

Sam nodded. "I understand."

"David, Karen and I will go in through the back. Be careful, Sam."

She exited the car first. Sam didn't see her go, nor did he see which direction she took. One moment she was there, and in the next breath she was gone. Sam went to the trunk. He tucked the stake into his belt where he could reach it if he needed to. John had trained them to use both hands in battle. In his left hand Sam carried the crossbow. In his right he took up the machete. He tested its balance. It felt good.

He slammed the trunk shut and made for the house.

* * *

Dean's hearing had grown sharper. Even from deep within his basement prison he could sometimes hear sounds from out on the street. Tonight an all too familiar rumble attracted his attention. He listened as the big car grew closer and closer. He heard the tick of her engine cooling and the soft sounds of conversation. The words were indistinct. He couldn't make out what they were saying.

Cocking his head, he caught the screech of a creaky door as it opened. He knew his car. It was the passenger's side door. A moment later he heard a second creak, the driver's side door, followed by the unmistakable sound of the trunk lid slamming shut.

"He's here," he murmured. "And he brought company. At least one other."

Maria looked back over her shoulder. She rose, walking slowly toward the stairs. Dean watched her raise her head upward, tilting it slightly as she listened. Her long hair trailed down her back like molten copper. His eyes caressed the length of her slender throat, tracing the spiderweb of veins visible through her delicate skin, wondering what it would feel like to have them burst between his teeth.

She finally lowered her head and opened her eyes to slits. Her voice was a low, vicious, growl.

"Lenore."


	13. Chapter 13

The house was sparsely furnished. What furniture it did hold was out of date and covered in dust. The stairs leading up to the second floor were also coated in a thin layer of gray, obviously undisturbed for a very long time. It was clear Maria didn't make the upper floors her home.

Sam made his way carefully toward the back of the house, keeping his weapons ready, knowing she had to have heard him. The wooden floors creaked beneath his weight. In the silence he might as well have been setting off a canon every time he took a step. Once he saw a shadow pass by a window. He almost fired the crossbow before realizing it was only David creeping around to the back door.

There was no dust in the kitchen. The floor was freshly mopped. An open bottle of wine sat upon the counter. Next to it were a couple of pieces of butcher paper. Blood pooled in the paper from the meat it had once contained. Sam paused to sniff cautiously at it. It was still cold from the refrigerator, which he turned to investigate.

The door opened. He looked inside to find stacks of paper wrapped meat, plastic bags full of blood. She had enough to keep herself fed for a good long time without having to go out hunting for prey. It told Sam she may have planned this abduction. He wondered if she'd targeted Dean specifically, or if he had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He wondered if it really mattered at this point.

Sam shut the fridge and turned around. Behind him was a door, a heavy wooden door reinforced with steel bands. It led, no doubt, to the basement. That was where they were, that was where they had to be, because Sam knew without a doubt Dean and his kidnapper were in this house. Lenore had confirmed it.

He moved toward the door. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lenore slipping through the door coming in from the back yard with David behind her. When she caught sight of him he directed her with a silent gesture, jerking his head toward the closed door, indicating his intention to open it. He expected her to nod in agreement and move up to cover him. Instead he saw her eyes widen, and she broke the silence with her shout.

"Look out!"

The heavy door swung open faster than anyone could have predicted and more silently than it should have. Neither of them had seen nor heard it coming until it was too late.

It slammed into Sam's right shoulder with enough force to make him stagger. He heard a loud "pop" and pain obliterated anything else he might have been thinking. The machete fell from fingers suddenly gone numb at the end of an arm now hanging limp at his side. It had been dislocated at the shoulder. Quickly, he twisted around, pulling the trigger of the crossbow, aiming at the shadow he saw lurking behind the door. It ducked back into the stairwell. He hit nothing.

"Lenore!" he gasped.

It was all he could get out. A second later he was jerked off his feet and flung headlong into darkness. Instinctively he curled in around himself, protecting his wounded arm as he rolled down the stairs. Above him he heard the door slam shut. There was the sharp sound of a bolt shooting home, and Lenore shouting his name. He heard her banging and tugging at the heavy door. She could not get it open.

"Sam! Sam hang on, we're coming!"

A foot slammed into his ribs. He groaned.

It was Maria. He saw only her booted foot, a swirl of red hair, and her snarling mouth as he rolled away from her – or tried to anyway. She hauled him to his feet and locked her arm around his neck in a strangle hold, giving him a hard shake as if he weighed next to nothing. Miraculously, he still held the crossbow, but not for long. She jerked it out of his hand with a snarl and threw it to the floor, leaving him weaponless. Sometime during his fall down the basement stairs he'd lost the stake. It didn't matter anyway. His right arm was useless. His left was twisted up painfully behind his back.

The grip she held around his throat prevented him from speaking louder than a whisper. "You must be Maria," he managed. "Where's my brother?"

She ignored his question. "Dean tried to convince me you weren't an idiot, Sammy. I can see now he was wrong. You should have stayed away."

"Where is he?"

"How many others are with you?"

"I'm alone."

The arm around his throat tightened. "Don't lie to me."

"I want to see Dean, or I'm not telling you shit."

A laugh wasn't what he'd expected. Her breath tickled his cheek. It stunk of rotten meat. "You want to see him? Sure. I'll let you see him." She chuckled again, low, ominous, before raising her voice to call out into the darkened room. "Dean!"

There was a rustling sound from somewhere directly in front of him, just outside of the light shining down the stairwell from a bare bulb above their heads. Sam saw something move, dark on dark, and a tall man materialized from out of the shadows. Sam's brow furrowed. Anguish sucker-punched him him in the gut.

"Oh, God," he breathed. "What did you do to him?"

It was Dean, but a thin, pale, gaunt looking Dean. He'd always been trim, but in the weeks he'd been missing he had to have lost at least twenty to thirty pounds. His clothes hung loosely from his body, draped over wasted flesh and prominent bones. His ring no longer fit his ring finger and had been moved to his thumb. The charm pendant he always wore hung down over the jutting curves of his collarbones, and rested upon his chest between ribs clearly visible beneath his t-shirt. His neck was bruised and scarred from countless bites and tears made when Maria had fed from him.

He looked dead.

He didn't sound dead. When he spoke he sounded like he always had, except for a certain distance to his tone. He sounded distracted, like he wasn't fully in attendance with what was going on around him.

"I'm all right, Sammy."

"You turned him," Sam breathed. "You bitch, you turned him."

"No," Dean said quietly. "She didn't."

Maria chuckled. "See. I didn't. I just opened his eyes to the truth, Sam. I showed him the truth about what's coming. I showed him how to save himself, and you, from the fate awaiting humankind."

"Dean..."

He stopped abruptly as Maria tightened her hold around his throat. He felt her fingers brush his collar. She moved quickly and had torn his shirt open before he even noticed she'd removed her arm from his neck. He hadn't even had time to flinch. Now her arm was around the top of his head, turning it aside to expose the vulnerable spot at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Her strength was phenomenal. Sam was taller than her by a foot or more and yet she had him twisted up like a pretzel in her grip. His back and legs ached under the strain.

"You wanted more," Maria whispered. "Here's more, all yours for the taking."

Sam stiffened as she moved her head against his. He felt her breath at his ear, and he realized that she had not been talking to him. That realization, and her teeth sinking into his flesh, were what caused him to jerk against her hold in a last ditch attempt to free himself. He might as well have been fighting against iron shackles. There was no freedom to be had.

She bit down harder, piercing arteries and veins, releasing his blood into her mouth. He felt himself getting weaker, sagging heavier against her breast. She fed only briefly before raising her head and allowing the blood to flow freely down his chest. It soaked his clothing. The smell of it made him want to be sick.

"Come on, baby," Maria urged. "Let me show you the future."

Sam's eyes opened, darted toward his brother.

"No," he groaned. "Dean, no! Don't."


	14. Chapter 14

Dean winced as Sam rolled down the stairs. His first instinct was to go to him, help him, but some invisible barrier prevented him from doing so. Maria had told him to stay, to watch and listen until she called him. He wanted to disobey. He couldn't disobey.

He wondered, watching Maria kick Sam hard enough to make him grunt in pain, when things had gotten so far out of control. What had happened? _He_ was in control of the situation, wasn't he? She hadn't turned him, had she? No. She...

"Dean."

Her voice compelled him. He wanted her to finish up what she was doing. He needed her. It was past time for her to feed. If he did what she wanted, it would be over more quickly and these people would go away. They could have their home back.

Home. He'd never really had a home before. He had one now. Maria had given it to him, and as long as he stayed with her he'd never feel loneliness or pain ever again. She'd promised him that, and she'd promised Sam would be safe. That's what he really wanted. Sammy had to be safe. He'd promised. He'd swore.

_I'm doing the right thing, Dad. I know I am. I..._

He hesitated, brought up short by the look on Sam's face, and the words his brother spoke.

"Oh God, what did you do to him?"

Dean frowned. What was he talking about? He was fine. "I'm all right, Sammy."

"You turned him!"

He was puzzled, confused. Why would Sam think that?

"No, she didn't."

_Had she? Sammy? Oh my God, Sam, help me..._

Blood scent distracted him. Maria fed. He heard her, could almost feel it himself. Streams of glistening blood down from her mouth over Sam's pale, white skin. Even standing as far back as he was, he could sense its heat. It drew him. The sight of it upon her lips inflamed his senses. When she raised her head her eyes were bright with life.

"Come on, baby..."

"Dean, no!"

He was there in an instant, holding her face in his hands as he kissed her mouth. He sucked the blood from her lips like he would suck the juice from an orange wedge. That he couldn't press his body up against hers frustrated him. She needed to let Sam go. He was in the way.

"Dean! Don't listen to her. She's lying to you. Whatever she's done to you..."

_What had she done? Did he really care when she made him feel this good?_

Maria turned her head, wrenching away from his mouth. He took a step back, hurt, confused. His eyes followed as she leaned in and ran her tongue across Sam's collarbone. She smeared blood up Sam's neck despite his efforts to get away from her. The wound in his shoulder bled more freely.

"A gift," Maria whispered. "There's nothing in the world like it. It's like drinking milk from the bottle. Remember how good that is, Dean? You aren't supposed to do it, but it tastes so much better."

He remembered, but he still hesitated.

Her eyes narrowed angrily as she sensed his reluctance. "Feed, damn you! Now!"

* * *

Maria's grip tightened still further. Sam couldn't move. The weaker he grew the less energy he had to put toward speaking. His voice was nothing but a hoarse whisper. He was utterly helpless. He could only stand there in Maria's arms, watching his brother struggle to resist a new and unnatural instinct.

Dean's eyes darted from Sam, to Maria, to the blood running down Sam's chest and back again. His breath came in trembling gasps. Inch by inch he moved in closer, his attention drawn down toward the open wound as the bloodlust overtook his senses. Sam saw his nostrils flare. His lips parted.

"Dean... please...don't..."

A bang and a clatter startled them all. Something dark and heavy crashed into Maria's back, loosening her grip and sending Sam reeling toward Dean. Captor became captive as Lenore thrust the wooden stake deep into Maria's back. The red-headed vampire screamed. Lenore twisted the stake and wrapped her arm around Maria's throat.

A deep, male voice froze them all in their tracks.

"STOP!"

The machete blade rested against Sam's windpipe, a sinewy strong arm lay firmly across his chest. He grabbed at the arm with his good hand but once again found it impossible to free himself. Slumping back against his captor he could feel Dean's ribs pressing against his spine, and the heat from his brother's body seeping into his own. It was feverishly hot, but Dean was also shaking like a leaf, wracked with chills. He was sick and Sam still could not get away from him. His grip was strong, unnaturally strong.

Sam had not found his freedom, he'd merely exchanged captors, and not necessarily for the better. Sick and confused as he was, Dean could quite possibly be more dangerous than Maria.

"I swear to God, Lenore, I'll cut his throat if you don't let her go."

Lenore's voice was soft, but no less ominous. "Trust me Dean, her destruction is far more valuable to me than your brother's life!"

"Don't be stupid, Lenore," Maria gasped. "You know what can happen if you kill me now."

"I'll take that chance."

"You'd do that?" Rolling her eyes, Maria met Sam's gaze. "If I go, I'll take him with me, Sammy." She laughed hoarsely. "And right now, your chances of surviving this aren't all that great either. We'll all be dead. Tell him Lenore. Tell him the truth."

Sam looked up at Lenore, and her normally composed expression was filled with anguish. "What does she mean? Lenore?"

Lenore appeared torn, wanting vengeance upon her enemy, but despite her words, concerned about Sam. After working together for weeks searching for Dean, the coolly respectful relationship they'd formed at their first meeting had grown into something more. Sam had come to think of her as a friend. He'd confided in her things that few people aside from Dean, and maybe Bobby, knew. He liked to think she now had the same feelings toward him.

"It's not true, Sam." Lenore said quietly. "He doesn't need her."

"She's lying!" Maria hissed.. "Don't listen to her, Dean."

Lenore gave the stake a jerk, causing Maria to cry out in pain. "I said shut up!"

"Maria..."

Dean's breath hissed rapidly as he panted through clenched teeth. Out of the corner of his eye Sam could see sweat beading across his brother's forehead and dripping down from each temple. The knife he held pressed harder into Sam's skin, slicing through the first layer. Blood ran. Sam both heard and felt Dean groan.

"She's bluffing," Maria gasped weakly. "She won't kill me."

"Try me," Lenore growled.

Maria's eyes narrowed, she focused her full attention on Dean. "You're fast, Dean. You know how to use that weapon. You can have her head before his body ever hits the floor." She sounded tender, almost maternal. "This can all be over, baby. Think of Sam. Don't you want to save your Sammy?"

Lenore was losing patience. "Maria, dammit, shut up!"

"You'll be saving him from a fate far worse than death!" Lenore's arm tightened around Maria's throat, turning her shout into a hideous croak, but she did not stop. "Kill him!"

Dean's voice was little more than a whimper, a pleading whimper so unlike him Sam was momentarily startled.

"Maria, please..."

"Do it!"

"I...can't..." A sob shook Dean's body. His voice faded to a barely audible whisper. "I can't."

"Dean!"

"No. Sam...Sammy..."

The machete fell away from Sam's throat by only a half inch, but that was the break he'd been waiting for. He swiftly jammed his good arm back into Dean's chest and twisted out from beneath the weapon's deadly edge. In the same motion he grabbed a fistful of hair and slammed his forehead into his brother's. Dean went down. The blade slipped from his hand and spun away across the floor. Sam staggered, momentarily dazed from the blow himself. He saw movement from the stairs and raised his head to look.

Lenore had shoved Maria forward the second Sam made his move. Weakened from the dead man's blood soaking the wood of the stake, Maria could not catch herself as she fell from the steps. She went down on her knees. Her hands waved behind her as she tried in vain to reach the weapon still protruding from her back. She couldn't reach it. She called to Dean for help.

Sam and Lenore dove for the machete at the same time. She was faster. Sam rolled and came up empty handed. Lenore was already rising up behind Maria with the wicked blade cocked back over her shoulder.

Dean saw it coming. He lurched to his feet, clearly intending to intervene. Sam stepped in front of him, holding him back as Lenore made her swing.

"No!"

The sound of the machete slicing through the vampire's neck was sickening, indescribable. Maria's head left her shoulders in a spray of blood and shards of bone. It fell heavily to the ground and rolled to a stop at Sam's feet, where he looked down and saw her open eyes staring back at him. He cringed away, dragging a grief stricken Dean with him. Her body remained upright for a few seconds more, her hands still groping for the stake in her back, as if she were unaware of the more serious issue.

Lenore put her foot between Maria's shoulder blades and pushed the body over into the floor. Blood spatter arced across Lenore's cheeks. When she raised her head in triumph she looked wild and dangerous, with a ferocious gleam in her eye, reminding Sam of her true nature. The look lasted only a moment. An instant later her expression changed.

"Sam!"

Dean hit him like a linebacker, shockingly heavy for as thin as he was. Sam staggered, knocked off balance. He tripped over Maria's headless body and fell heavily onto his back, cracking his head a good blow on the hard concrete floor. Fingers curled like claws dug into the wound in his shoulder, ripping it open still further. Pain jolted him out of his daze with a yell. Dean struck him again, bloodying his nose and tearing open his cheek. The attack had been eerily silent, and frighteningly vicious. It took Sam a minute to realize he should be fighting back. By the time he did, he was at a serious disadvantage.

They both knew how to kill with their bare hands, and as Dean cocked his arm back for another blow, Sam saw murder in his eyes. Maria's death had pushed him over the edge. He was out to fulfill her last order.

"Lenore..." Sam gasped. "Lenore!"

A dark figure loomed above them. Lenore reversed the machete and swung the wooden handle as hard as she could, striking Dean a heavy blow to the side of the head.

He dropped like a stone. His body fell limp and heavy across Sam's chest.

Sam dropped his head back to the floor, panting, and no longer able to resist the darkness lurking at the edges of his consciousness.

"Don't kill him," he murmured. "Please don't kill him."

And then his world went black.


	15. Chapter 15

He heard voices in the darkness. A hand touched his forehead, his cheek...

A man's voice spoke.

"He's burning up."

A woman's answered.

"He's sick."

"That's obvious, Lenore."

Dean squeezed his eyes shut even more tightly. Relief flooded through him.

_Sam. Sammy. You're okay, thank God._

A finger slid under his lip, lifting it up away from his teeth.

"There are no fangs."

"Not yet. He hasn't turned, Sam."

"She was telling the truth?"

She.

Maria.

A heavy ache settled in Dean's chest. That's what was missing. She was gone, dead. He mourned.

Why? He barely knew her. She tried to kill Sam. She tried to get_ him_ to kill Sam.

Now she was dead. Lenore killed her.

Grief stabbed him in the gut. He groaned out loud. He felt something cool and damp against his forehead. It made him shiver.

_What's happening to me?_

"When we turn someone it's usually done quickly. We don't like to waste time. Most of us don't enjoy tormenting our victims. It's like...playing with your food."

"Nice analogy," Sam snorted.

"Yet accurate," Lenore replied. "Sam, what Maria has done here is different. We turn people for many reasons. Among other things, there is security in numbers, and we're quite social among our own kind. This is why Maria has always been considered an outcast. She was the vampire equivalent of a sociopath."

"She broke all the rules."

"Believe me, there are more vampires who abhor killing than those who embrace it. Even those who do kill their victims do so out of necessity. Again, for security reasons. Dead men don't talk."

Dean cracked his eyes open. His vision was blurry. He could barely make out the two shadowy figures standing beside the bed. Closing his eyes once more he drifted back toward unconsciousness, listening idly to the continuing conversation, barely realizing what any of it meant.

"Killing is killing, Lenore."

"I'm aware of that, Sam. I'm aware of it every time I am forced to choke down blood from a damn cow!"

There was a long pause.

"I'm sorry," Sam said quietly. "Sometimes it's easy to forget."

"I'll take that as a compliment."

Lenore moved closer to the bed. Her scent was different from Maria's, but not her touch. Her fingertips brushed his cheek, cooling the fire. He sighed, and turned his head into her hand, calling Maria's name softly, despite knowing she was gone.

"We mate for life," Lenore said, a hint of sadness in her voice. "This was Maria's intention. The turning of a lifemate is a slow, meticulous process, unlike anything else."

"To develop an even stronger bond between creator and fledgling?"

"Yes. It forms a bond unbreakable even by death." Lenore continued softly. "She chose others, those you found in the morgue. They weren't strong enough to survive. She must have sensed something different in Dean." The floorboards creaked. Her position changed, her voice now came from a place near the window. "She almost succeeded. Had she completed the ritual, he would have killed you. She'd have had full access to his mind then, able to manipulate him in any way she wanted."

There was fear in Sam's voice. "Lenore." he said. "The truth. Has he been turned, or not?"

_I'm okay, Sammy. Don't worry._

"No, but he's on the cusp. He has the bloodlust, the addiction. It wouldn't take much to trigger the change in him."

"So, can we fix this?"

When Lenore did not answer right away, Sam prompted her again.

"I don't know, Sam, not for sure. I suggest we start trying to wean him back onto real food, slowly reduce his need for blood."

"And if it doesn't work? If he doesn't snap out of it? What then?"

"I don't know."

"Tell me the truth, Lenore!"

Dean cracked his eyes open, startled by the threatening tone of Sam's voice. He saw his brother facing off with Lenore, who almost seemed to cower beneath his height. He saw her meet Sam's gaze head on, and he knew she was telling him a lie.

"I. Don't. Know."

They stood at an impasse for a long moment before Lenore gently pried Sam's fingers from around her wrist. "Sam," she said. "We need to take this one step at a time. Right now the backlash from Maria's death has made him sick. He needs to feed. Go downstairs and bring me blood. Warm it. Don't mix it with anything." Her tone turned grim. "He's beyond that now."

"Okay," Sam whispered, nodding. "Okay." He turned away, and left the room.

When he was gone, and even the sound of his footsteps had faded, Lenore drifted back over to the edge of the bed. Dean watched her, unable to stop making the comparison between her and Maria. She wasn't as graceful as Maria had been, and did not move as swiftly, yet was still more than any human could ever be. Lenore did smell differently from Maria, much different. Lenore's blood scent had a distinct twist that seemed oddly familiar.

Dean wrinkled his nose. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Beef," she snorted, correctly reading his expression. She sat down on the edge of the bed and wiped the sweat from his brow with a cool, damp, rag. "You are what you eat."

"It's not bad," he said quietly. "Reminds me of White Castle."

"So I smell like Sliders? Dean, that's not exactly a compliment."

"What aren't you telling him?"

The abruptness of his question took her off guard. He'd planned it that way. He saw her flinch before she could make a denial. Her eyes turned away from his quite quickly, but he recognized guilt when he saw it. She stalled by folding and refolding the rag before putting it down on the nightstand.

"You better start talking before he gets back up here," Dean suggested.

She took a deep breath, and turned her head to look at him. "Maria didn't complete the bonding process, but she got far enough along to make undoing it very difficult."

"So I heard."

"No you didn't." She said swiftly. "Because, as you said, I did not tell Sam the whole truth."

"And what is that?"

"You're one step from the change. Once Maria fully set the bond, it would have triggered everything she so carefully set up. You'd turn, and be her lifemate."

"So I haven't turned, " Dean was trying not to get ahead of her, because what he thought she was going to say was pretty murky. He didn't like it, not at all. "Because she went and got herself decapitated."

"Yes."

He sighed wearily. "And why," he asked softly. "Isn't that a good thing? 'cause I didn't sign on to be a bloodsucker when I grew up." Her face betrayed her reluctance. Dean sighed again. "You're running out of time, Lenore. Sam's on his way back."

"I don't know if what has been done so far can be reversed." She said finally. "We can try to get you to eat normally again, gradually reduce the amount of blood you're given, and that may work but..."

"If it doesn't?"

"Blood alone won't sustain you, not without the completion of the change. You'll starve to death." Her eyes caught his, intent on making sure he understood the truth now that she had spilled it. "You're caught between a rock and a hard place, Dean, and I'm sorry, I truly am."

He nodded slowly, attempted a wry smile. It was weary and pathetic, he knew. "I'm a gambling man. Give me the odds, Lenore."

"Odds are good you're going to die."

"Okay, you could have sugar coated it a little."

"Sam's on his way back," she reminded him.

"Yeah, yeah." Dean winced a little and gingerly felt of the bruise at his temple. She'd really wholluped him good with that machete handle. "So basically, if I don't go vamp, I'm going to come to no good at the end of the Hollywood starlet diet?"

"What?"

"Never mind." He looked up at her. "Don't get me wrong, I'd really like another way out, but why don't you turn me? Finish the job."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm not your mate."

"Eli wasn't your mate, and you turned him."

"It doesn't work that way, Dean. The mating ritual is different. Maria is gone, but you're still bound to her. Like...like a spirit might be bound to its remains, or to a place or thing."

That, Dean understood.

"To get rid of a spirit, we burn its bones," he murmured. "Break the bond."

"My people have already taken Maria's remains to be destroyed," Lenore said quietly. "That will not save you."

He stared down at his hands where the bones clearly showed through the skin. He'd lost a lot of weight already. How had he not noticed?

"Only Maria can finish what she started." His voice cracked as he forced the words to come. "Yeah, I get it."

The doorknob rattled. Sam was back.

Dean raised his head and caught the vampire by the wrist. "It's okay," he said quickly. "Not to tell him. In fact, _don't_ tell him, Lenore. Promise me." His eyes were pleading. "Leave him a little hope, please!"

She gazed into his eyes for a long moment, for as long a moment they had with Sam coming back in the door, and then nodded. "I will. I promise."


	16. Chapter 16

Sam sat against the door, resting his elbows atop his knees and holding his head in his hands. It was late, well after midnight, and he hadn't slept. He hadn't slept for days, weeks...

Or more.

_Years maybe? Not since before Jess..._

From across the room, Dean spoke softly. "It's not your fault, Sammy."

Raising his head, Sam looked up at the bed. Dean was propped up on a stack of pillows, the remote control of the television Sam had bought him lying on his chest. (_"I can't believe Maria had this nice house and no television anywhere! Sam, I can't take it!"_) The T.V itself was off. Besides the soft rattle of Dean's breath everything was still and silent.

"You're not getting any better," Sam replied, his voice unsteady. "And I'm doing everything, everything I can..."

"Yeah, you are, so it's not your fault."

Dean could say that, Sam thought, because of what he didn't know. Sam hadn't told him about the scrying, the spell, what he'd felt and seen. Lenore agreed that if Sam had not used his abilities to locate Maria's lair, they would have lost Dean completely and perhaps been killed themselves. It didn't make Sam feel better. It made him feel worse.

_He's dying. Starving to death right before my eyes, and it is all my fault, just like everything else._

"I could have gotten to you sooner," he murmured. "I _should_ have gotten to you sooner."

"Sam, knock it off. You did your best."

Sam shook his head. "No," he said. "No. I didn't. I waited too long."

"Too long for what?"

He hesitated. He didn't want to say, didn't want to tell Dean what he'd done. He especially did not want to reveal to Dean the price he'd had to pay. Sure, he'd been scared, and Dean wouldn't have blamed him if he had never done it; after all, he _should_ be scared of tapping into those cursed powers. Dean would have said the price was too high. He wouldn't have wanted Sam to take the risk.

But Sam had.

John was serving time in hell for Dean's life already. Now it would be Sam's turn, and he'd fucked everything up so badly Dean was going to die anyway.

_I should have done it as soon as Dean had vanished, or I shouldn't have done it at all. _

_Every day the demon gets closer. I feel it. I see it watching me every time I close my eyes. When everything else is quiet I can hear it whispering to me, calling me..._

For a moment he was lost. The room faded out around him. All he could see were flames. All he could hear were whispering voices, punctuated by an occasional burst of screaming.

"Sam!"

Sam started. Dean's voice these days was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but he'd managed to put some force behind it this time. The sound of his voice shattered the vision. Sam looked up at him feeling slightly dazed.

"What?"

"No. You say 'huh. I say 'what.' You waited to long for what?" Dean repeated. He waved a hand. "Hello? Sammy?"

It was the first time Sam had looked at him, _really_ looked at him, for several days. He wondered if he hadn't been laboring under some form of denial, tending to his brother's every need, nursing him along with unreasonable expectations. It was obvious, painfully obvious, that they were getting nowhere. Since they'd rescued him from Maria Dean hadn't gained any weight, he'd only_ lost_ more. He was weak, barely able to move, barely breathing.

_He can't eat real food. He can't even tolerate animal blood. It has to be human. What do I do when Maria's supply of it runs out?_

The painful truth? Dean would probably be dead before that happened.

"I...I used a scrying spell to find you."

"Is that all?" Dean scoffed. His voice was soft, his once rapid-fire delivery now slowed down to a crawl, but he still got his points across just fine, including the smart-ass ones. "Oh come on, Sam. Those things don't work, they're just a bunch of crap. Little kids use them to find missing game pieces, and the game pieces usually stay missing."

"They do work, Dean, if they have the right power source."

"Like what? What kind of power source?"

"A powerful clairvoyant."

"You? Right. Sam, you can't control the stuff you do."

"Maybe not before, but now..." Sam pushed himself up the door until he was standing, pacing back and forth along the side of the bed. "I performed the spell, and the next thing I knew I was there, with you, _in_ you, having sex with Maria through _you_... "

"Whoa, dude, that's several shades of wrong..." Dean paused, laughed softly. "Sammy the psychic voyeur - who woulda thunk it?" One brow suddenly shot up. "Hey, could that be considered a threesome?"

"Dean! Don't you get it?" Sam shouted. He stabbed himself in the chest with his fingers to drive home his point because obviously Dean _wasn't_ getting it. "_I _did that. It wasn't a vision that just came to me. It wasn't some freak telekinetic burst. It had nothing to do with the demon. I consciously tapped into the abilities I have and I _used_ them." His voice broke with exhaustion and grief. "But I waited too long. I got to you too late and now...I've destroyed us both, Dean and I'm sorry. I'm so, so, sorry."

Dean stared at him. He didn't say anything for a minute. It made Sam decidedly uncomfortable, especially after he noticed his brother wasn't blinking.

_Shit, don't tell me he freakin' sat there and died on me._

"Dean?"

At the sound of his name, Dean finally did blink, slowly, and gave Sam a bit of a cocky smile. "Well at least you didn't tell somebody to walk out in front of a bus."

"You still don't get it."

"Oh, I get it," Dean replied, plucking idly at the quilt pulled up around him. "So you got caught playing with matches. It's _okay_, Sam. It'll be okay."

"How, Dean? Tell me how!" Sam sagged against the door again and slowly sank back to the floor. "I got a taste of that power, just a little taste, and I...I wanted more." He grasped his head with his hands, fighting back tears. "I let the demon in, and I've killed you. How can that be okay?"

They didn't say anything after that, not for a while. Sam was lost in his own thoughts, his own, miserable, guilt-ridden thoughts. He wasn't sure what his brother was thinking, not until a soft sigh made him lift his gaze back to the bed.

Dean lay back against his pillows, his expression now one of understanding and sympathy mingling with the profound weariness that never seemed to leave him anymore. "I can relate to the whole getting a taste of power thing, Sammy, believe me," he whispered. He noticed Sam rubbing his temples. "Headache?"

"Yeah."

"Vision type headache?"

"No," Sam murmured.

"Have you gotten any sleep lately?"

Sam snorted. "What do you think?"

"I think you need a hot meal and a nap," Dean answered immediately. "I'd make you something but getting down the stairs right now is a little iffy for me."

Allowing himself a small, sad smile, Sam replied affectionately: "Always looking out for me..."

"Not like you deserve it, punk."

The words were an effort to lighten the mood, but they failed. A sudden fear surged up inside Sam's heart, grabbing it in a taloned fist. "Dean," he blurted. "You can't die. I can't lose you. I can't handle all this crap all by myself. Please...please don't leave me."

Dean gave him a long, appraising look. He didn't say a word in response. He simply picked up the television remote and clicked on the set. Light and noise suddenly filled the room. Applause and laughter drowned out the sounds of Sam's misery. "Look, Sammy," Dean said gently. "Wheel of Fortune. Let's make a bet..."


	17. Chapter 17

Exhaustion finally beat Sam down. Unable to go on any further without rest, he had fallen into an uneasy sleep upon the rug beside Dean's bed. Sprawled face-down on the floor, Sam mumbled and twitched in his dreams. Lying there he reminded Dean of a puppy, a big, clumsy Great Dane puppy. Dean watched him carefully for several minutes. He did not wake.

The "Mission Impossible" theme was stuck in Dean's head.

"Only," he whispered to himself as he eased into a sitting position. "We're gonna have to slow it waaaay down."

At least his feet were back on the floor. That was something. Standing up on them was going to be a little bit trickier.

"Whoa." He immediately sat back down as his knees buckled beneath him.

Yep. A lot trickier.

Looking back over his shoulder, he made sure Sam still slept. If Sam caught him, he'd get a lecture. Dean was tired of lectures. Of course he was tired of just about everything, and, more than that, just plain _tired._

His second attempt went much better. He stood on wobbly legs, holding on to the bed frame with one hand, clenching a fist at his side with the other. What that would accomplish he wasn't exactly sure, but he felt better doing it.

_The hall. I just have to make it out into the hall._

Progress was slow, very slow, with frequent stops to hold tight to the furniture for a rest. A fly on the wall would have heard him mutter curses with every step, most of them brought down on Maria's head.

_The bitch._

Oh, he could think it, he could even say it out loud, but he had a hard time feeling it. She'd sunk her claws into him deep and changed him in more ways than one. He _knew_ he'd been brainwashed. He understood perfectly the damage she'd done to him and how utterly evil she had truly been. With Maria there were no shades of gray. Her heart and soul had been as black as night. If he'd been able, he would have taken her head himself.

His heart still longed for her company. His battered body craved her touch.

He mourned her loss.

And hated himself for it, despite all that he knew.

_Made it!_

He half sat, half fell to the still dusty wooden floor of the hallway, wedging his body up in the corner between the wall and a table. The door was still partially open, but Dean had figured out what to do about that. He'd hooked his pendant around the knob as he'd made his way through, pulling the door behind him. All he had to do now was give the cord a tug...

The door clicked quietly shut and latched. He replaced the pendant around his neck.

Raising an arm, Dean wiped the sweat from his brow on his sleeve, making note of how much effort just _that_ took. He was out of breath and panting too, but he had to hurry before Sam woke and saw him gone. His hands shook as he fumbled his cell phone out of his t-shirt pocket. He had a hard time dialing.

"_Hey, Dean." _

Dean leaned his head back against the wall and closed his eyes, giving a nod of thanks to the god he wasn't sure he believed in – just in case.

"Bobby. Hey. I need to pick your brain."

"_That's what I'm here for._"

"What do you know about scrying?"

"_Scrying?"_

"Yeah, you know, farseeing, locating lost objects, that kind of thing..."

"_I know what it means, I'm just curious why you need to know."_

"Well, that's kind of a problem, see, I kinda need you not to know." He added quickly: "And I really need Sam not to know I called and asked you this."

"_Dean. Are you boys in trouble? Sam's not..."_

"Sam's fine," Dean hissed, annoyed at the delay. He couldn't afford to have Sam wake up before he got the information he needed. "I'm fine. We're all fine. Trust me."

" _'course I trust you, but I don't believe you for a minute. You sound like shit."_

"I'm sitting on the floor in a hallway whispering into a cell phone, of course I sound like shit."

Bobby grunted. _"Scrying?"_ he said.

"Yes, scrying. I'm looking for one spell in particular. One that actually lets you inside the person you're hunting. Like a Vulcan mind meld deal or somethin'." He paused, unable to resist a postscript. "An x-rated version."

"_What?"_

"Never mind. Do you know which one it is?"

"_There are probably a couple that work that way, but I gotta tell ya, Dean, you can't go playing around with that stuff. They might look like simple enough spells, but they can go south real quick if you're not careful."_

"Big fat warning label noted. When can you let me know?"

"_Probably have something for you in a couple hours."_

"Good, and when you call back, I won't answer. Just leave a voice mail. I need to know what exactly it that spell says. All the gory details."

"_You're not gonna tell me what this is about, are you?"_

"Nope, just that it's a matter of life and death."

"_Dean, are you sure you're okay?"_

He hesitated, poised on the verge of just spilling his guts to one of the few people he truly trusted. "Honestly? No, not at the moment, but if you get me that spell, there could be a dramatic turn-around."

"_On it."_

Dean smiled. Good old Bobby. The man knew when to shut up and let it go.

His hands were shaking as he dialed another number, this time _really_ praying there would be an answer. Not only was he concerned about Sam waking up, but that he himself would pass out before he could accomplish his tasks. He could feel his strength ebbing.

"_Hello?"_

"Still alive."

Lenore chuckled. _"Glad to hear it."_

"Listen, I might have come up with a way out of this jam, but I need two things."

"_Which are?"_

"I need you to tell me exactly what Sam did the night he scried for me. I need every last detail, from start to finish."

"_Okay, I can do that. What's the second thing?"_

Dean swallowed heavily, knowing she wasn't going to like what he had to say.

"I need you to bring me some vampire carry-out."

He was right. She didn't.

"_I know you're not asking me to haul a cow up there."_

"Noooo..."

"_I won't harm a human."_

"Not asking that. I said _vampire_ carry-out. And it can't be one of yours. I need someone with a taste for humans."

He could picture her eyes narrowing. _"What are you up to, Dean?"_

"I'll tell you when you get here."


	18. Chapter 18

Sam had a creepy, crawly feeling. He'd had it for a couple of days now, ever since the day he'd woken up on the floor of Dean's room and found his brother gone. At first he thought his creepy-crawlies were simply an after effect of that scare, but eventually he realized they had been brought on by something else. Though what that "else" might be remained hidden from him.

Dean, of course, had been found that day. It hadn't taken Sam long to locate him sitting in the hallway just outside the door. He couldn't have gotten very far anyway, and certainly hadn't.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The wide-eyed, innocent expression on his brother's gaunt face, and the smart-ass response about a baloney sandwich, should have told Sam immediately something wasn't quite kosher. At the time, however, he had been too upset to notice. He only began getting suspicious when Lenore showed up for a "visit" very late the following night and asked to talk to Dean privately. Dean called it "counseling." Sam called it a conspiracy.

"What are you doing?" he demanded finally, after Dean held a second late night counseling session with Lenore.

Dean didn't even bother to look up from the television. "Watching Jerry Springer and slowly dying of starvation, why do you ask?"

Sam was infuriated. "Do you really think that's funny?"

"What? Jerry Springer, or slowly dying of starvation?" Dean asked flatly. "Jerry Springer is kinda funny..."

In one swift gesture, Sam swept the remote control out of his brother's hand and turned off the television. It forced Dean to look up at him.

"What?"

"Why was Lenore here?"

"She came to see how I was doing. I told her I was doing shittily, thank you very much. Give me back the remote."

"Not until you tell me what's going on between you and her."

"Uh, nothing?"

"Dean..."

"What? What do you want me to say, Sam? That we're plotting to overthrow the government, or having a secret love affair? I can tell you for sure it isn't sex because I just don't have it in me." When Sam didn't answer him, he prompted, "What? What the hell, Sam?"

"Assisted suicide."

Dean stared at him in shock for a beat, and then snorted derisively. "I don't need any assistance. I'm dying just fine on my own."

"I'm not giving up on you," Sam braced his feet and gestured with the remote. "So don't you go thinking you can just off yourself to spare me or anything."

"If I offed myself I'd spare _me_ something."

"See!"

"God, you're a paranoid mother-fucker."

"I can't lose you."

"You've said that."

"Because I _can't_, Dean."

"Yeah, well you might just have to, Sam!" Dean shot back, in a voice much stronger than it had been in a very long time. His pale face flushed with anger. "Lenore lied to you, okay! I'm dying. I've _been_ dying because it was _Maria_ who told the truth about taking me with her! And yeah, that bites, it bites big time, but what the _hell_ do you want me to do about it, huh?"

Sam set his jaw. He was angry. He felt betrayed. There was a lot he wanted to say, there was a lot he needed to say, but the only thing he could get out were the tears.

_Why hadn't they told him? _

"Sam, don't start..."

"You're a fucking bastard."

"And you're a god-damn baby. What did you think, that I'd be around to wipe your ass for you forever?"

_Let it go, Sam. He doesn't mean it. You don't mean it either. You're both just upset._

The lights flickered. Beside the bed, the nightstand started wobbling slowly back and forth.

_No. No...don't do this. Don't. Let it go!_

A crack shot diagonally across the mirror above the dresser with a sound like a gunshot. Dean didn't turn his head to look. He simply continued staring at Sam with a perfectly neutral expression on his face.

Sam inhaled deeply, let the breath out in a long, slow exhale as he reigned in his temper and his grief, and the power they had awakened. Fear would come a little later, when he realized how close he'd come to losing it completely.

"Are you done?" Dean asked quietly.

Sinking wearily into a nearby chair, Sam could only nod miserably as he leaned forward, clutching his aching head in his hands.

"Good. Now give me the remote, and go get me something to drink like a good little brother. If you do that maybe I won't have Lenore come and inject me with something lethal later tonight."

"I hate you."

"Yeah, whatever. Stop being so paranoid, Sam, it's making you a little nutty."

Sam let out a shaky laugh and raised his head. "Dean," he said softly, not bothering to hide his fear. "You saw what I just did..."

"I'll say it again - a little nutty." Dean gave him a wry look. "Are _you _trying to kill me, Sam? I also said I'm hungry. Go. Bring me dinner, you want me to starve to death or something?"

"See," Sam smiled sadly. "This is why I need you."

"Sam. I'm not kdding. If you don't get me something right now I'm going to pull a Tyson and bite the hell out of your ear."

"Okay, I'm going. I'm going!"

* * *

It was a myth that you couldn't see a vampire's reflection in a mirror. The legend grew out of the fact they moved very quickly and were difficult to see, period. Catching a glimpse of himself in the big floor mirror standing at the end of the upstairs hallway made Dean wish the myth were true. He looked like crap.

At least he felt better, thanks to Lenore's little present. She'd guarded the door, keeping Sam at bay, while Dean had a midnight snack called Sarah.

He had recalled a conversation with Maria, a post coital conversation during which she spent every other word lapping blood from the most recent wound she'd put in him. They talked about blood, and they talked about one of the reasons she was a loner.

Turned out, she liked to feed from other vampires. Sometimes she'd kill them, and drink from the blood spilled from their severed necks.

"Nothing else compares to it," she had drawled. "It makes you high. Gives you a buzz better than any drug. There's power in blood, you know that, and there's even more magic in the blood of a vampire. It's how we turn people." He still remembered her laughter...

"_It's how we turn people on."_

It was also how Dean got enough energy to haul his ass out of bed and make his way down the stairs.

_Thank you, Sarah. I owe you one._

He had hoped drinking her blood might jar loose whatever was keeping him stuck in limbo, but it hadn't. Dean didn't turn. Lenore was right. Maria had been the key to completing his transformation. Now she was dead, and Dean was stuck on "half-baked."

At least he was far enough along that the vampire blood actually had an effect. He was riding a good buzz, much like the kind one would get from PCP. He had his strength back, loads of energy, and he certainly wasn't feeling any pain. It just had to last long enough for him to get done what he had to do.

A whole lot of experience creeping around in old houses gave him a particular insight. He took the stairs along the edge, close to the railing, where the steps were nailed firmly into the risers and the wood did not creak. His descent was exceptionally quiet. It didn't hurt that he had lost so much weight either. His footfalls were virtually silent.

He had a reason for being quiet. It was called "what Sam doesn't know won't hurt him."

As much.

He only hoped his efforts would pay off. If they didn't he could kiss his ass good-bye. After all the physical activity he was going to do tonight, when the effects of the vampire blood wore off, he was probably going to drop dead immediately. That was part of the reason he hadn't let Sam off the hook during their little spat. He'd been given false hope once before. Dean didn't want to build him up again just to fall dead at the poor kid's feet.

Edging up to the kitchen door, he peered in, searching for Sam. He was there, checking the status of the frozen blood Dean had requested. It apparently wasn't thawed to his satisfaction. He returned it to the microwave. While he waited he raised his arms above his head and stretched. His back was to the door and he was unaware he was being watched.

Dean didn't give him any warning either. Sam didn't even have time to utter a single syllable before Dean rushed him and pressed him firmly up against the basement door. He locked his hands around each of Sam's wrists and raised a knee to his midsection, leaning into him so he couldn't move. In fact, Sam could barely breathe. His brow creased in confusion, but something in his brother's eyes must have struck a sour note, because the confusion slowly gave way to concern.

If not outright fear. Dean could see it very clearly. Sam thought perhaps he'd turned.

"Scared?" he asked softly.

Sam could do little more than gasp. "No."

"Liar."

"Dean, what are you doing? Let me go." He squirmed. Dean released him just slightly, just enough so that he could slam him back against the door again.

"Don't," Dean warned, as he noted Sam gearing up to head butt him. "Even think about it."

Sam grew still. "You're going to kill me?"

"Probably."

"Oh, God!"

With a chuckle, Dean leaned in close to him until they were nose to nose, inches apart. "Just trying to get your adrenaline going, Sammy. Makes the blood flow a little faster doesn't it? Gives it a little spicy kick too, like adding hot sauce to tomato juice."

"That's not funny."

"Do I look like I'm trying to be funny?"

Sam's breath hitched. Sweat beaded up across his forehead. "Are you going to kill me or not?" He was frightened. The smell of his blood had changed, confirming Dean's suspicions.

_Interesting._

"I'm not making any promises." Dean cocked his head. "After all, I'm still new at this." Smiling, he leaned in closer, so he could whisper in his brother's ear. "I'm hungry, Sammy. So very. Very. Hungry." He pressed his lips against Sam's skin, let them part over the jugular vein. He could feel the blood rushing by beneath them. God, if he had turned...

"Yeah?" Sam said shakily.

"Yeah," Dean breathed, and bashed his brother's head hard against the door.

He went out like a light. Dean released him and watched as Sam dropped to the floor in a boneless sprawl.

"Sorry, Sammy," he said softly.

He quickly knelt down to make sure Sam was unconscious but otherwise unharmed. Satisfied with what he found, he rose again in a swift, fluid motion and dragged Sam's body away from the basement door.

Dean definately felt stronger than he had in weeks, revitalized even. Maria had been right about another thing – live prey was exceptionally more fulfilling than sipping defrosted blood from a coffee mug. Even stuck in limbo between human and inhuman as he was, he could still sense the difference.

He could sense his – incompletion – better too. It reminded him of having a sock twisted sideways inside your shoe. Bearable but annoying, all you wanted to do was stop and fix the problem. Dean's little problem wasn't as easy to fix. He couldn't just pull off his shoe and straighten his sock, or better yet, take the damn thing off entirely.

Because someone put a knot in the laces he couldn't get loose.

_Thank you, Maria_.

It wasn't until Sam told him about the scrying, that Dean figured out he might be able to work around the knot. He'd lain in bed for hours thinking about it, turning every little piece of the puzzle this way and that, studying the problem from all angles. He hadn't anything else to do except sit there and starve, so why the hell not keep his mind occupied?

Bobby had found the spell Sam had used for his scrying attempt. Lenore sat down with Dean and told him step by step everything Sam had done that night both before and after he found Maria's lair.

Turned out, Sam and Maria had something in common.

They'd both neglected to complete their spell work properly.

_Shame on you, Sam. You should know better._

A soft sound from behind him made him stop, his shoulders stiffening. He relaxed when he saw it was only Lenore, slipping into the kitchen through the back door. She paused to look down at Sam before meeting Dean at the top of the basement stairs.

"I don't like this. You should tell him, Dean."

"No. He'll only try to talk me out of it." He brushed past her, descending into the darkness where he'd once been held prisoner. "Come on. I don't have time to waste, Lenore."

With marked reluctance, Lenore turned her gaze away from Sam, and followed Dean down the stairs.


	19. Chapter 19

His arms ached. The dislocated shoulder only recently healed complained loudly about the stress it was under by shooting sharp, jabbing pains up and down his spine. It took him more than a minute to figure out his arms were aching because they were bound behind his back. Another thirty seconds and he felt he could open his eyes without puking. Like his arms and shoulders, his head was throbbing with pain.

"He's waking up."

Sam squinted up at the source of the voice. She stood a few feet in front of him, her arms crossed over her chest. "Lenore?"

"I'm sorry, Sam," she said softly.

"What's going on?"

She didn't reply, but bent to take him by one arm, hauling him up to his feet. Another woman slipped up to him on his other side and took his other arm. She was petite, and blond, and also stronger than she should have been.

_Another vampire, one I've never met._

The blond leaned in more closely, her body language saying "seductress" more than "captor." Her eyes glistened brightly as she slowly licked her lips.

"He's lovely, Lenore."

"He's off the menu, Sarah," Lenore replied sternly. "You'll get yours later."

Sarah pouted. "Not from _your_ supply I hope," she snarled.

"I'll keep my word," was all Lenore would say, but it satisfied the girl, who then said no more.

Sam tried to engage Lenore one more time, and failed. His gaze darted around the room, the kitchen, trying to figure out on his own what was happening. He wasn't exactly surprised to see Dean, but it still gave him pause.

His brother was standing, barely, steadying himself on the back of a chair. Whatever strange energy had fueled him earlier seemed to have diminished. He looked faded, his face deathly pale except for the cavernous shadows beneath his cheeks and eyes. The stark light of the kitchen made him appear even more thin and wasted, like a walking corpse, yet his eyes were feverishly bright.

Sweat dampened the collar of his shirt. Sam could see his chest heaving as if he found it difficult to breathe.

"Dean," he murmured. "What are you doing?"

"Making a last stand," Dean replied. "Sorry about the headache." Slowly he let go of the chair and made his way across the floor to where Sam was being held. "An explanation would have taken too long, and I didn't think you'd like it anyway."

"I didn't like having you scare the piss out of me and then knock me unconscious for sure." Sam snapped.

"So you _were_ scared. Thought so." With a small, wry smile, Dean continued. "You might have been in trouble if I were a vampire."

"I thought..." Sam frowned. "I thought maybe if she wasn't here to kill you that Lenore..."

The smile vanished. Dean's voice dropped to a breathy whisper. "No. Only Maria could do that."

"I'm sorry, Sam." Lenore said quietly. "When I killed Maria, I condemned your brother to death. I didn't want to tell you..." She stopped abruptly, shooting Dean a pleading look. "Dean, please. Tell him."

Sam looked from one to the other, his scowl deepening. "Tell me what? Dean?"

Dean? Really? Was it?

He had never in his life seen Dean look so.._.un-Dean-like_. It was as if his brother were gone, and he was looking at a stranger. Dean's gaze was distant, thoughtful. His body language belonged not to the devil-may-care Dean that Sam was used to, but to a man far older, and wiser. He hardly seemed real. There was also something in the set of his shoulders, the tilt of his chin, that suddenly reminded Sam of their father.

Sam was afraid of that look. He'd seen it before. "Dean," he whispered. "What did you do?"

Dean started, turned to look at Sam almost as if he had forgotten he was there. "Nothing," he said. "Yet."

Lenore prompted him once again. She had felt Sam's surge of panic, his fright. "Dean, please..."

"Is it the demon?" Sam blurted.

"No," Dean said quickly. "No, Sammy. Nothing like that." He paused. "Or maybe it is." There was a powerful note of sadness in his tone. In another time and place he might not have ever let it show. "It's time I guess, for me to make the sacrifice this time."

"Sacrifice?" Sam's chest tightened. His voice shook as tears gathered in his eyes. "You...are you out of your mind? You've already made all the sacrifices anyone could ever ask of you, Dean. I mean...I owe you. Dad...Dad owed you."

"No..."

"Yes, he did. He owed you! You took care of us, Dad and me. It was always you that held it all together, man. Moving all around like we did, Dad always off Hunting, poor as dirt – it never got you down. You were always there, making everything all right. Hell, you didn't even get a chance at the fucked-up childhood I got. You...you gave it all away..." He stopped, unable to continue dredging up old memories, old pain...

Old guilt.

"Sammy..."

"No more sacrifices, Dean," Sam begged. "Please."

For a moment Sam thought he'd gotten through, talked Dean out of doing whatever insane thing he was planning. Hope flared when Dean smiled, and shook his head.

It faded when his brother met his gaze once more.

"I screwed up," Dean said gently. "And I have to pay for it. But I also made a promise, and I intend to keep it." He shook his head again, slowly, never taking his eyes from Sam's. "No, Sam. I'm sorry, but there's one more sacrifice to make."

* * *

He realized that most of what he felt about Maria was contrived. During the time she'd held him captive she had slowly corrupted his mind right along with his body. He didn't really love her. He didn't really mourn her.

Thus, it was with marked reluctance that Dean gave her credit for always telling him the truth. She hadn't kept anything from him, not really. She'd told him from the very beginning what she had planned for him. Her brutal honesty was hard to take, but she had told him the truth about Sam too.

His brother was doomed.

As bad as Sam's little telekinetic tantrum had frightened Sam himself, it had shaken Dean to his core. Coupled with the confession regarding the scrying spell, Dean realized how far down a very bad path Sam had wandered. He understood perfectly what Sam meant by liking the taste of power. He'd gotten far more than a glimpse into the world of the vampire and like Sam, he'd found himself taking a bad turn down a dark path. _Un_like Sam, however, Dean had no chance of redemption. His path had been cut off in both directions by Maria's death.

Or so he'd thought, until he discovered a loophole, a costly loophole to be sure, but one he figured he'd be able to live with.

Dean discovered that during his foray into the dark side, Sam had done a little tripping along the way. He'd stumbled, foolishly neglecting to follow some of the basic rules of magic and spell-casting. Dean couldn't blame him; they'd been taught to shoot first, wave magic wands about later. John had preferred not to dabble in magic. "It's too risky," he'd said. "You can get caught up in it, lose your self, and sometimes it's damned hard to figure out if what you're workin' is black, or white."

Some ritual work was unavoidable of course, and performing it had become second nature to all Hunters everywhere. Salting and burning bones was one they used all the time. Another common working they used was in the warding of doors and windows. Everyone knew how to use protective circles. Exorcisms went without saying.

Sam liked to think he was the spell-casting expert in the family. He had a natural gift for language. He understood how to use meter and pitch when reciting, and how those things affected the workings of a spell. Sam used ritual magic like he used a computer. He was an expert at utilizing both computer and spell as tools. He knew what buttons to push to make them do what he wanted them to do, but that was all.

If Sam had to write a computer program, he couldn't do it. If he had to take a box of hardware components and build a computer from scratch, he would be at a complete loss. Likewise he could use magic, he understood what things "meant," but he couldn't write out the ritual from scratch. He could not look at a spell and tell what specific job a single word or phrase performed within the whole. Nor did he know what would happen if he rearranged things, or left something out entirely.

Sam couldn't play with spells like that, but his father could. John had seen everything as parts to a whole. It had been the way he'd been taught by his father, and how his father had been taught by _his_ father. Hunting evil had not always been the Winchester family business. They were humble, blue-collar people, hard-working and steadfast. They were carpenters and mechanics, men who built and repaired things. The family had owned a thriving automobile repair business in Lawrence, Kansas for at least three generations before John came along. They knew all about pieces of things; how to put them together and how to take them apart.

John sold the business after the demon came, but had not abandoned tradition. He had dutifully passed on the family legacy, his knowledge and talents, to his eldest son. He taught Dean how to look at something and break it down into its component parts.

Dean could rebuild a car out of nothing but a tangled mass of twisted metal and a cardboard box full of nuts and bolts.

He could also compose a spell or write a ritual, plucking the correct words and phrases out of his head as he might select car parts off the shelves at N.A.P.A. Conversely he could pick apart something someone else had written and put it back together again, changing it ever-so-slightly so the new spell would do something a little different from the original. Manipulating other peoples' work wasn't much different from tinkering around with the Impala's engine in order to coax more speed out of her.

Dean called it "Magic Scrabble."

Sam didn't know he could do it. It had never come up before because, again, John trained them to go for the guns and knives first.

"You made a mistake, Sammy," Dean said quietly.

Under different circumstances the utterly perplexed look on Sam's face might have been funny. Right now it just made Dean tired. The energy boost Sarah's blood had given him was wearing off rapidly. He knew his time was running out and having to stop and explain things wasted precious seconds he could not spare.

His Latin wasn't the best, but it was passable. He threw out a phrase he thought Sam would recognize.

_By the blood we share, I seek thee..._

Sam cocked his head, obviously searching for the answer to the question Dean was posing. It didn't take him long. His eyes widened. "I didn't ground the spell. I didn't finish. I got distracted and..."

Dean nodded. "You left the phone off the hook."


	20. Chapter 20

Dean was right. It wasn't hard to find, once he knew to look for it.

It was a conduit, opened between himself and his brother, enabling the spell Sam had cast to bring back information regarding Dean's whereabouts. It was this conduit that had enabled Sam to see through Dean's eyes, and feel what Dean had been feeling. Maria had sensed his presence inside her lover. The demon had touched Sam's mind as he'd fled back through the void. Those experiences had rattled Sam so much he'd forgotten to dissipate the spell and sever the link.

He saw himself now as Dean saw him – held captive between two women, looking weary and sick and frightened. He could see the vague expression in his own eyes as he sent his perceptions elsewhere. That frightened him too. It was becoming easier to go to those places inside of his mind, where power dwelled in a seemingly endless supply. He'd only touched upon the tip of the iceberg so far. The fire was only embers now, but it could grow. It would grow. All he had to do was give it a little nudge.

Coming back he chanced upon a few stray thoughts not his own. He felt sensations belonging to another body, Dean's body. It told Sam just how much his brother was suffering. Not human, not vampire, he was caught up in a cold, hard place where the walls were closing in on him. He was being crushed to death, starved to death, suffocated in both body and mind.

It may have been this intimate access, or it may have been one of his visions, but Sam saw something else as well. Dean was already aware of it. He showed no emotion, made no denial, when Sam said it out loud in a shaking, aggrieved voice.

"You'll be dead by morning."

Dean had been dressed in sweats while he lay in bed, unable to get up. He wore jeans now, and from his back pocket he produced a small, thin knife – an athame – a ritual blade. Sam's eyes darted from the knife to his brother's face. There was still no emotion, unless, perhaps, it was resolve.

"Dean..."

The gap between them narrowed. Dean stopped within arms reach of Sam's body, holding the athame in the palm of his hand. He nodded ever-so-slightly toward Lenore.

Sam struggled to escape as Lenore and the blond turned him around and removed the handcuffs securing his arms. He was no match for the vampires' strength. The blond held fast to his right arm. Lenore grasped his left arm, pulling it forward and and twisting his hand so that he presented it palm side up to his brother.

Dean ran the flat side of the athame blade across Sam's palm. It left behind a dark, reddish-brown smear upon his skin. It had come from flakes of old dried blood crushed into a powder. Whose blood, Sam didn't know for sure, but he could make a guess.

_Maria._

Sam realized suddenly what his brother had in mind. He shook his head slowly, tears welling up in his eyes.

"Dean. Don't do it."

The recitation was slightly different, the word order altered, twisted around to perform a somewhat different task.

_Blood that binds..._

Sam winced as the athame bit deep into his hand. Blood pooled in his palm, soaking up the stain Dean had left in the first pass. He felt Lenore stiffen next to him. The blond uttered a soft moan.

_Blood we share..._

Dean made a similar cut across his own palm. Placing it down over Sam's he curled his fingers, locking their hands together and sealing the blood between them. He met Sam eye to eye as he tightened his other hand around the hilt of the athame and held it high.

"This," he said flashing a incongruously pleasant grin. "Is probably going to hurt."

* * *

Dean drove the dagger down as hard as he could, punching through skin and bone and flesh until the athame was buried to the hilt. He had only a second to register both the pain and the sight of the weapon bursting through the back of Sam's hand. He saw a steady stream of blood running down the blade to stain the white linoleum floor at their feet. From the back of his own hand, where it oozed up around the dagger's hilt, Dean's blood spilled out over his wrist to join his brother's.

_The blood that binds._

He saw it all in one quick flash before the _real _pain hit him.

His back arched as he threw his head back in a silent scream. He felt himself beginning to fall, and as another burst of pain ran up his arm from his wounded hand, his screaming became audible. He couldn't escape it, the pain, couldn't physically pull away from it like he desperately wanted to. His hand was still bound to his brother's by a length of cold steel.

Strong hands grasped his shoulders, steadying him.

He could feel the link between himself and Sam begin to grow and mutate. Like jungle vines the threads of the reworked scrying spell writhed and twisted around each other. Like kudzu they would overgrow everything around them as they attempted to perform the the spell's primary function – to seek and join. They interwove themselves among the threads of the diseased and rotten spell Maria had failed to complete, and drew them in, making them strong and new. What had been two, became one. The new bond continued to grow and strengthen, sucking power and energy from Sam's psychic gifts, until it became virtually unbreakable.

The vampire mating ritual Maria had begun could now complete itself – without her.

Dean's screaming stopped as the scent of blood surged up to overload his senses...

And steal his humanity.

* * *

The sudden silence took them all by surprise.

Lenore moved quickly to hold Dean upright as his knees started to buckle. The blond loosened her grip as well. As soon as he knew he was free Sam reached out to grasp the handle of the knife protruding from the back of Dean's hand. He jerked it out, mindless of his own pain, and threw it aside. A second later he was pulling away, twisting his body like a football running back escaping a tackle to head for the safety of the inzone.

Dean had flattened Lenore to the floor, tossed the blond aside like a ragdoll.

If Sam scored, he'd win his life. If not...

_He's too fast!_

The hit drove the air from his lungs, slammed him hard into the wall. A bloody hand struck his chest at the end of an arm driving like a piston. He heard a rib crack and felt a new burst of pain. More pain followed as a thin, hard body pressed tightly against his, and a second hand grabbed a handful of hair, jerking his head back.

"Dean..." he gasped.

Sharp fangs closed around his throat, cutting off a cry of denial. He felt blood rush from his body, taking with it his strength, drawing away his life. His struggles slowly ceased. He went limp in his captor's arms, shivering as pain turned to pleasure, praying he would wake again as light turned to dark.


	21. Epilogue

Dean opened his eyes the moment the sun touched the Western horizon. Peering over the tops of his sunglasses he took a long, hard look at the orange, red and violet streaks reaching out across the sky. He yawned as he pulled off the ball cap he'd been wearing to shade his face from the sun. His hair stuck up in weird spikes. He styled it quickly by passing his fingers through once or twice. After tossing both hat and classes up onto the dashboard, he gave one last stretch, burped, and casually reached over to turn on the radio.

Sam's hand shot out and flipped it off again with a quick snap of his wrist.

Dean glared at him. "You're _still _pissed at me?"

"Shouldn't I be?"

"You're not dead," Dean pointed out.

"Gee, Dean, thanks for _that _anyway." Sam snorted. He drove for another half mile before he added: "You could have warned me."

"I thought you knew? Maria bit you."

"Maria bit me. She didn't turn me into an all-you-can-eat buffet."

"Not for lack of trying," Dean recalled. "Come on, Sam. It would have been even more awkward if I'd told you..."

"Awkward?" Sam jerked his head around to stare at him. "Awkward, Dean?"

The Impala wobbled across the road into the opposite lane.

"Road, Sammy."

Sam pulled the car back into line. "Awkward," he muttered.

"Bad word choice?"

"There is no _good_ word choice!"

He was probably right, Dean thought. There simply were no words to describe the pseudo-sexual feelings sometimes created between predator and prey when a vampire fed. The closest he could get would be to liken it to some sort of heavy petting; a bloody bump and grind that in the end created an utterly amazing semi-orgasmic sensation followed closely by the overwhelming need to get laid for real.

Right.

Now.

With anyone readily available, usually the one that bit you.

If, that is, the one that bit you didn't render you unconscious directly after the urge struck.

Or kill you.

Sam was actually _very_ lucky.

Dean twisted his arm around and rolled up the sleeve of his t-shirt. The bruises Lenore had left when she'd pulled him off were already gone. "Are we stopping for lunch any time soon?" he asked archly."I'm feeling a little horn – I mean - hungry."

"Christ..."

"Heh, heh. Just kidding, Sammy."

"You better be."

"Man, at least with Maria I knew I'd get some. You...you get a little horny and flip out completely."

"Dean!" There was a rather frantic edge to Sam's voice as the Impala started drifting again. "_You_ aren't supposed to make _me_ horny!"

"I can make anybody horny, and if you wreck my car, I'm gonna eat you."

"You are such a perv." Sam quickly straightened the car out again

Dean chuckled as he used Sam's cell to call up their current location on the GPS. "Don't worry, I've met plenty of chicks who like getting nibbled on. I'm not gonna go hungry _or_ horny for long. In any case, you're just not my type." He grinned. "Get it, type? Like blood type..."

"Lame."

"Whatever, dude." Pulling the rear-view mirror around so he could see himself, Dean carefully examined his rapidly improving, but still rather gaunt, profile. "Maybe I should do the whole vampire Goth thing. You know - layer on the eyeliner, paint my nails black..."

Sam rolled his eyes.

"What's the matter? Jealous?"

"Jealous? Of what?!?"

"Well, you know, chicks really dig the danger vibe..."

Shooting him a look out of the corner of his eye, Sam snorted. "Is that it, Dean? You turned blood-sucker so you could pick up women?"

A smart-ass comment was on the tip of his tongue. It was there, and then it was gone, falling to dust under a sudden onslaught of emotion.

"No," was all he said. "That's not why I did it."

It didn't matter if he said anything else. Sam knew why he'd done it. Sam knew Dean as well as Dean knew himself these days, if not better. The "deal" they'd struck sometimes worked both ways.

"You," Lenore told him afterward. "I don't know whether to call you a genius or an idiot."

Sam must have picked up on the thought. "I still don't know _how_ you did it."

"What, splice the two rituals together?"

"Yeah."

Dean shrugged. "Does it matter beyond the fact that I did do it?"

There was a small hesitation. "No. Not really. It's just...weird."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. If you think about it, you freakin' _married_ me, Dean."

Dean hadn't thought of it that way, actually. He'd known using the ungrounded scrying spell to trigger the change would have Sam essentially playing Maria's role in the ritual, but he hadn't been sure it would work nearly as well as it did.

As for being hooked up to Sam for the rest of his life...

It wasn't as if he and Sam were going to be lovers or anything like that, although that would have been the likely result of lifebonding with Maria. No, this was different. Sam not being a vampire probably had a lot to do with it, not to mention the fact they were both male and _related_. The bond had simply brought them closer as siblings, as friends and confidants. And as far as the other perks were concerned - well - Dean couldn't have asked for anything better.

He had found out rather quickly that what he'd hoped might happen, did. He could now run interference between Sam and the demon. By virtue of the bastardized vampire mating bond, he had gained access to Sam's head. The first thing Dean did was clamp down on Sam's abilities, rendering them inaccessible. After that, once he figured out how it all worked, he'd swept in and taken Sam off the demon's radar entirely.

It could no longer find him.

_I did it, Dad._

Not only that, but with a little help from Dean, Sam had recently experienced a night in which he got eight hours of deep, dreamless, sleep. It had been the first time such a thing had happened in nearly two years. Dean remained at his bedside the whole night too, making damn sure nothing disturbed him. He swore he'd do it every night for the rest of their lives if it meant Sam could finally find peace.

Of course their immediate concern was how they were going deal with the conflict of interest between Dean's new nature and his current profession. Sam's suggestion: "Don't ask, don't tell."

"Marriage, huh," Dean murmured, after a moment of consideration. "So what are you trying to tell me here, Sammy? You want a ring or somethin?"

"Dean..."

"A honeymoon in Vegas? That would be kind of – awkward – ya think?"

Sam groaned. "God, I hate you."

Dean grinned as he sensed the underlying echo of what Sam really thought of him. With a sigh of contentment he leaned back in his seat, raised his arms, and laced his fingers together behind his head. There was a honky-tonk bar not far from where they traveled. Dean knew a girl who often hung out there. He'd make Sam pull in for a nightcap.

His mouth watered in anticipation.

Life was good, wasn't it?

**_FIN_**

****

Musical Inspiration:

Building a Mystery, Sarah McLachlin:

"_You come out at night_

_That's when the energy comes_

_And the dark side's light_

_And the vampires roam..._

_You're so beautiful,_

_A beautiful fucked up man..."_

Norwegian Wood, The Beatles:

"_I once had a girl, or should I say, she once had me..._

_I sat on the rug, biding my time, drinking her wine._

_We talked until two, and then she said, 'it's time for bed..'"_


End file.
